I still believe in love at first sight, because I experienced it when I was too young to be a cynic. Most people would call it puppy love, or infatuation. But no; at age 11, I saw a glimpse of the future I was meant to have. Could have had. Maybe in a different life time we'll meet again and things will be different.
I can count the times I've seen you on both of my hands, and maybe a toe or two. The times we spoke, however, would require a lot of other people's digits to count. The times you were honest with me, maybe just one hand. I think you did love me, in your own way, but you were too broken to know it and too entrenched in the mire of your own making to see that I would have been the best thing for you. I would have done anything for you, short of dying for you. I wouldn't have done that, because I wanted to live for you.
It took me two years to tell you how I felt about you, and at 13, I didn't really have the words for it yet. Some flowery poetry about passion I had no idea about, phrases from books I probably read and mimicked. The love was genuine though, and I treasured the times I saw you more than you can know.
You jerked me around, you used me, and you took away things that were precious from me. You made me the cynic I am today, you were the first heart-breaker, and even somehow managed to steal what was meant for you that day in your bed. I offered it willingly, so how did I come away feeling robbed and empty? But it's easy to ignore that sort of thing when you love someone, isn't it?
The last time I saw you, I finally saw first hand the damage you'd done to other people, and the damage you'd done to yourself. A woman, pregnant with your child, who was a year younger than me and crying because she was so alone. That could have been me... and I would have allowed it, too. I saw what was on your computer, and got her to admit to me that she'd known for much longer, the things you looked at when you thought you were invisible. When she went away to work, you visited me in the guest room and told me you loved me. You said the things that took me back to being 13 again, standing in the forest, looking up into your guileless eyes and seeing what should have been.
I find myself thinking about you all the time, and my heart aches every time I do. I've burned the bridge between us; burned it, got rid of the remains, and stand on the other side of it longing for you still. I see you over there, destroying yet another life, and I hate myself for how I feel. I should have left when I heard the first lie cross your lips. There's a place in my heart for you still, and I have a feeling I won't really ever say good bye.