It’s been two years.
Two years since that week on the ship in the middle of the ocean where you stole my heart.
I haven’t forgotten what you were wearing, or what you smelled like, or how your kiss tasted.
The night that we both let ourselves give in; it was the best night of my life.
I haven’t spoken to you since. But I still think about it whenever I meet a stranger with your name. Or when I see someone in skinny jeans and blonde hair. Or when I see a hideous truck that looks like yours. Or when I hear a Mayday song.
You took a part of me that night that you still have. And I wonder if you even know.
I’ve “moved on,” and I’m sure you have too. But I still think about everything you told me that night whenever I go home, or see someone I used to know.
I just hope that one day I will be able to tell you how I feel and how you’ve always been the one. I still think about you late at night when I’m lonely and my mind drifts to that time that I so desperately want back.