subject line: two seats over, and one seat back.


san diego, california

I remember us being six years old, running laps on the playground and glancing around before sneaking kisses when we were twelve. I remember us being sixteen and making promises in the backseat of my brother’s car and swearing that we were just friends to our parents while we held hands under a pillow.

And I remember the night it all fell apart, for the first time, you sitting on one side of the couch with a cold and me sitting across from you thinking ‘this is the end’ and realizing that I knew it but couldn’t stop it.

And then she decided for us, we were no longer friends. There was blank stares, gut deep emotions pouring out in conversations late at night, tense parents asking what happened- all questions met with silence that would make a mime go insane.

And we didn’t speak for eighteen months.

Then on my very first day of college, in my very first class of the day, you are sitting there. two seats over and one seat back.

Everything I had wished for in the last thirteen years of my life comes rushing back. But then I take a breath and take a seat and remind myself that sometimes that not everything is meant to come back for you to keep, somethings come back to remind you to choose better this time.