They were something, once. He was strands of midnight hair, eyes the color of chocolate, and a carefree attitude. She was eyes of emerald, and hair the shade of roses, sun streaked strands floating about a childish face, anxious hands, and a bright grin. They danced in the darkness of a gym lit only by cheap and cheesy strobe lights, surrounded by teasing friends. His hands were on her waist, hers on his shoulders. She remembers the white of his teeth shining through the dark when he smiled. He remembers the light in her eyes as she watched him.

They talk, after that. He laughs at her sarcasm, and her stomach swoops. She laughs when he and his friends make fools of themselves, and he blushes, watching her. They text far more than they see each other. When she's not in school, they play games through messages, and he lets a teacher catch him texting because she distracts him. He stutters when she corrects him in Spanish class, and the glittering smile he gets is worth the slip up. She brushes his hand with her own in science, and can't look at his face for a good five minutes.

They complement each other, those two. They work beautifully. They go to summer camp together. She sees him shirtless and has to take a few deep breaths. He sees her in a bikini and can't pull his eyes away. They joke around, and he puts a fake ring on her finger, because he can, and maybe because his friend dared him. The two pair up their best friends, but share a look of regret as they laugh when the two get fake married.

He meets another girl that night, flirts with the girl behind her back. The new girl's name is Emma, and she's gorgeous. They talk once more after camp. The conversation was strange, guilty. She thinks it sounds like goodbye. She's right. They don't speak again for another three weeks, no matter how many times she tries to get his attention. They break up after those weeks. She knows he met someone else. He never finds out that she knew.

They move on. She avoids him. He never looks her in the eye. They are hyper aware of each other. He knows her well enough that he can tell she sees him. She knows him well enough that she knows when he's looking. They stay out of each other's line of sight as much as possible.

Then, they have a class together. It's only the one, but they are together once a day. It's been a year. Both are still aware of the other. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, he sits in the wrong seat to get a better view of her. They were something beautiful once. Now they are strangers who don't say the other's name.

He is strong muscles, a handsome face, and a good sense of humor. She is long legs, a sharp wit, and mischief filled expressions. They don't know each other anymore, no matter how much they wish they still did. He is left with nothing but memories and guilt, and she is left with the ghosts of good times and an inability to let anyone touch her waist.

Some say they returned to how life was before they knew each other. She knows that is wrong, and he does too. They will always have the scars, the imprints on their souls that every lover leaves, no matter how young. They have forgotten each other, they way it felt to have the other by their side.

They are strangers that had once been something more.