Whiskey I [m.yg]

2.

Okay, I admit, it hurts. It all hurts a bit too much and I'm just I just. Shit.

I hate writing using a pen, because I can't erase shit.

I don't have a whitener.

Shit.

Anyway, I still remember how we first met. I remember that day all too well.

With all honesty, I remember each day with you all too well.

I may have pretended to be zoned out and uninterested, but you kept on feeding the fire within me, making it grow.

I thought I was strong for keeping it locked in, but I was just a weak piece of shit that refused to let you in on my feelings.

I'm still not sure if I like that day for letting me meet you or despise it for making me go through hell.

It wasn't anything cliché. We didn't bump into each other nor did you tutor me. You weren't the popular kid and I wasn't the hated kid nor was it the other way around.

We were two average students.

We didn't even go to the same class and I don't think I've ever regretted anything more than being born a year earlier than you.

If I were to be born a year later, I would've been able to talk to you more, but nevertheless, we did get close.

Our meeting was simple. We stood in line and you asked me to hand you a juice box.

A juice box.

That day, you smiled at me. You gave me the widest smile I've ever seen. Not only did your lips smile, but mine did too.

It's been so long since I've last smiled.

Moving on, I was never really a fan of juice, but for some odd reason, I took one as well and drank it. I drank it what so happily, knowing you were drinking the exact same juice box that I gave you.

A specific feeling built up inside of me and I'm still quite surprised I was able to feel that.

I felt happy.

I felt happy for giving you a juice box.