I remember listening to “Wake me up” by Ed Sheeran while you opened my sunroof and leaned back while I drove at midnight.
I remember the fog rising off the precarious back roads I would take from your house at 4am most summer nights.
I remember you pulling your jeep down to the end of your long, potholed, driveway and opening the back where we laid and kissed and heard rustling that was the family of deer that lived on your property.
I remember sitting on a blanket and looking at a curtain of fireflies all around us in the field by your house and you asking me if I was taking mental notes to write about you again.
I remember kissing you for the first time.
I remember going to your house that you lived in with your girlfriend and you grabbing the back of my jeans when she left the room and my boyfriend sat on the couch.
I remember you showing me the “pool” and grabbing my arm and trying to kiss me.
“I have a boyfriend.”
I remember texting my friend and asking if we could go because you were “doing it again” and I didn’t want your girlfriend to see.
I remember going to the bathroom and you coming in while I was washing my hands and blocking the door.
“Move. Your girlfriend is here.”
“Chelsea no- stop-I love-no- please”
Drunk. You always wanted to tell me how much you loved me when you were drunk.
You poured liquor down your throat and did handstands on top of beer and that was the magical mix that made you tell me the thing that I would’ve sang from the rooftops to you.
I remember laughing with you all the time.
I remember swimming with you in our best friend’s pool after everyone else went to bed.
I have this quilt work of tattered memories that make up all the elements of a relationship.
But if something happened to you, I wouldn’t get a call…probably for weeks.
If something happened to you, no one would understand why I was so sad.
Just like they didn’t when I stopped hearing from you.
And even if I remember it as a relationship, I have to remind myself
you never held my hand.