I Miss You

  Another Thursday night, scrolling down the comments on the Owl City blog and reading them like a creeper. Names, names, names, I love you's, I'm sorry you feel like that way's, and more names. Then one name.

 Whenever I see that name I almost begin to cry. Memories are always partly healing and partly depressing. These ones just cut my little fragile soul like it's theirs to take. I've missed someone since I was eight. A second-grade loss. I know, so terrible sounding, right?

 Trust me, it hurts more than you'd think.

 She only lived with her dad. She had one of those American Girl dolls, the Kit one. It looked just like her to me. She was pretty and nice and we were absolutely best friends.

 I still remember the time I spent the night at her house like it was last week.

I remember the layout of her house. Where the hallway, kitchen, and her room were... There was a grate in the floor, a zipline in the backyard. We played Operation. We spread dominoes with matching ends all over her bedroom's hardwood floor. I couldn't fall asleep when she did, so I got lonely and stared out the window, where there was a streetlight shining in the night.

 The night before third grade started, I sat on my bed, facing my wooden dresser, crying. She moved. I had to go to school without her there with me. 

 Because I was still quite a little kid, there was a bit of hope I held onto that told me that I'd see her again. Surely the universe couldn't keep us apart forever, I thought. But as the years went on and on, I realized that I wasn't going to just see her and become best friends again. Still, I spent a lot of time daydreaming and wondering where she was now, who she was friends with. Most of all,

I wondered if she remembered me.

That was seven years ago.

 I've been thinking about her a lot lately, and I still wonder. Even if she did just pop up out of nowhere, how could I recognize her? Even then, if I tried to talk to her, there's no way... There's no way she'd even remember me. I was just listening to "Butterfly Wings". I smiled as I listened, then got a deep sinking feeling in my chest. I turned it off and started to cry. I'm crying right now. 

She meant so much to me, and I don't think she ever even knew it.

That was the first time my heart was broken.

Well, actually, I was born with a broken heart. But with the figurative meaning, the first time.

I'm that kind of person that just can't let go of the things she loved, which isn't very good because I've lost at least two and I see another one going. It keeps breaking me down and giving me more fears every time. Why is it that all love seems to just... End?