It was the wrong time, the wrong person… I think we had about 30 days left until our goodbye. A new city, a new life awaited you. I was worried—mostly for myself, because you were leaving me behind.
I knew I would never long for anyone else with the same wild passion again. And I didn't.
Time flew with you. Our relationship—whatever you want to call it, half-lover, undefined—lasted three or four years. Everything that needed to be lived was lived:
Meeting.
Attraction.
Love.
Passion.
Affection.
Effort.
Sacrifice.
Empathy.
Dreaming of a future.
Betrayal.
Disappointment.
Separation.
Everything fell like dominoes, one after another.
I wanted to treat you to good things, give you a proper farewell. I wanted to hold on to you a little longer, breathe in your scent. Please, remember me well...
Now, 20 years later, I don't know how you remember me, Chris. I hope you miss me as much as I miss you. And maybe you don't come back because your regrets hold you back. That's what I tell myself.
I wouldn't want you to be happy without me... Is that what love is? Thinking of someone else's well-being over your own? Is that nobility?
Then tell me... how will I survive this longing?
Did you ever think about that?
Now, let's lighten the mood for a moment—remember the amusement park?
I loved corn in a cup.
Every time you saw a stall, you'd go get one without even asking me. Never "should I buy it?"—you just did.
I remember how your laughter echoed like a star bursting on those wild amusement rides.
How could someone look that beautiful while laughing?
You were a sweet man, yet so unreliable.