All the Letters Unsent

P.

P.

Wow.

That was a whirlwind.

It makes me laugh to think that when a friend first mentioned you I was actually reluctant to pursue anything. I don't know why exactly, I suppose I thought we wouldn't click. But then we met. And I was consumed. You were so...normal but that somehow made you more extraordinary.

This year has been so topsy-turvy but when I look back I see your face in the middle of it all.

I see the lazy, languid days. I ate ice lollies and you wore shorts. I can remember the book I was reading as I lay on the grass. The days stretched out ahead of us.

It was a different story at night. My room was a sanctuary and you were there as my tears fell. There was something about you that tapped into something within me and tore my vulnerability apart. You too seemed to be finding your way. Outwardly you were composed but I saw beneath it. You were also just trying to find your feet in a world that sometimes seems too big. I don't regret any of those tears (and there were a lot). I don't feel sad or embarrassed, if anything you turned a spotlight on them and helped me find my way through the dark.

Our lives became strangely intertwined. My Mum spoke about you often. She still does. And my sister. Oh, and your Mum! I check in on her Instagram still. Secretly, on a different account, just in case she ever spotted my name. I see what you're doing through social media too, of course, but there is something about checking in with your family that makes me feel like we're still connected in a deeper way. Like I know what's going on behind the scenes.

I flit between not wanting to hear about your life and then having an inherent need to consume everything about you. I think you have a girlfriend. If it's who I think it is, I'm not sure about her if I'm being honest. She might be a lovely person, I'm sure she is if you're with her, but there is just something I can't quite put my finger on. I know that you've always had a soft spot for her. Maybe it's that. Maybe I'm just jealous. I wish I knew what your Mum thinks of her.

I wanted to keep us cocooned in that room as the summer breeze blew gently through the curtains and the balmy nights turned colder.

But things started to shift. Just as quickly as the world stopped, the cogs shifted once more and we started to get pulled in other directions. Work, friends, family. What had been built couldn't withstand real life. Not really. Not without things being different.

So we moved on.

One evening I went for drinks after work and one of the boys had said that he'd seen you over the weekend. It was strange to talk about you, briefly, lightly, in a way that wouldn't betray what I was thinking.

What had I been thinking?

I thought of what you looked like when you were tanned and lay against the white sheets. Of your self depreciating laugh. Of your friends. Of the drink we both loved.

I thought about how you would have a sneaky cigarette. Of that one dreadful jacket. Of the story I heard about how you kissed someone in the rain and I wished it had been me.

It's funny because even after this whirlwind, I don't feel destroyed. In fact, I feel as though our story isn't over just yet. Don't ask me in what way because I couldn't tell you...but I'm still here. And I know that no matter where you are right now, you are too.