Michael S.

She had always loved you. She will always love you. She loves you. She is the only one. She met you when you were 12 but already a man. You fascinated her with your wildness, your pure energy. You were always moving, restless, waiting to be gone. You will never notice her awkward attempts at flirting, muttered words in passing. She will let you have the answers to the chapter twelve math test. You will only know her for a year. She remembers you drunk during school, playing along as if on a stage. She remembers you angry with your brother, you had a knife. She remembers feeling absolutely safe with you. She will meet you years later, both 17, and stare. Ragged blond hair, unevenly cut. Hard blue eyes, no longer dancing. Thin white scar darting from temple to chin. She would smile, you would take her into your arms. But neither of you will. Six months later you're going too fast and can't stop soon enough. An old girlfriend is having your child in a hospital three miles east. And a thousand miles away she's thinking about you. But you're going too fast.