When I think of that summer, I think of watermelon and tangled limbs. The smell of lake water lingers in my nose when I remember the way it felt to lose myself in your kisses. You were the first of all my firsts and nothing can change that.
I heard that you were getting married today. As I sit outside the church, I see the limo pull up and the group of girls tumble out. I can tell which one is yours, she's wearing the biggest smile. I would be smiling too, if I were about to marry you.
I crush another cigarette beneath my sandal, tasting the familiar regret. It's been six years since that summer of you and me. I was young and scared and you were as bright as the sun. None of this should even matter to me anymore. It shouldn't, but it does.
When I saw the positive sign, I didn't know how to tell you. I couldn't tell you. So, I let you go, let you hate me. I did what I had to do, but you wouldn't understand.
I wonder today if maybe you would have loved me anyway. Loved us. Would you have understood my choices, what I knew was the right thing?
The heavy door to the church closes with a thud. I swallow the ashes of my memory and turn. You're there, eyes wide with surprise when you see me. I open my mouth to tell you what's in my heart.
But, I don't. I can't. I assemble my features into disinterest and walk past you, pretending I don't even know who you are. Like it doesn't even matter anymore.