Above all else, we long to hear that satisfying click when pieces of ourselves and fragments of another person fit together, like a space rocket docking smoothly at the space station among trillions of twinkling stars.
Midnight chats carved into the guts of our adolescence and seared into my memory, naive yet intoxicating in their nostalgic infatuation. For the connection to hold, it had to be mutual. It had to move through honest conversations that flowed both ways. To understand and be understood, we had to break down walls and pay attention. You were the first to truly know me. Between our banter, I sometimes let you ruffle my feathers to amuse your boyish humour.
Handholding, hair twirling, hearts racing. Warm hugs, French kisses, bodies intertwined. Never underestimate the power of touch. Discovering new ground and stumbling through more firsts than I was ready for, I thought we were madly in love. With juvenile hearts and restless minds, we believed we could test our desires, but in hindsight, the real drivers were hormones and chemistry. What makes young “love” so unstoppable? At an age when we were still innocent, even after the flame dies, embers cling and keep the memory glowing. An unfinished romance can haunt for years, stories left untold.
I shoved our past into the back pocket of my mind and cast us off as one of my biggest mistakes. I could not and would not revisit those feelings. You were not worthy of my time. When triggered, buried memories rushed back, flooding me with embarrassment at my fatal attraction. For years I convinced myself you were not special, that what we shared was fleeting. I did that because I believed that was how you felt about me, too.
Until yesterday, when you finally said what should have been spoken many moons ago. It would have saved me years of regret and resentment. I guess this is what they call closure.