We should write a book.
In retrospect, I know it probably wasn’t you who said it. It had to have been me. Of course, I would have wanted it to have been you because it would’ve been so unexpectedly romantic.
“About what?” you (probably) asked.
“About us. Our story. You know, I write a chapter, you write a chapter—from our own perspectives.”
“I’m not sure you’d like my perspective.” You smiled. I wasn’t entirely sure you were joking. You kissed me. (Or maybe you didn’t.) After a moment you said, “No one would believe it.”
Do you remember? I do. Still. You have gone, so I am left to write it myself. You probably knew that I would someday.
You have vanished now, leaving only the ghost of our long and complicated relationship. We haven’t spoken in over a decade. I have no idea where you
