I was always very clean, but you liked to make everything messy. I'd make your bed and you'd rumple the comforter, I'd comb my hair and you'd tangle your fingers in it.

You liked to touch things—everything. You were curious, you were determined. When your lips found mine and I stumbled, your hands circled my waist, and your fingertips pressed against my thighs where my nightgown ended.

Your hands were everywhere your lips weren't.

And when it ended, when I knew there was nothing left for us because we could no longer bask in the naivety of our childhood, I made you vanish.

I left it all behind, the years of my youth, all that was good in me, all who were good to me—you.

I became what they suspected. I fulfilled their expectations—all their expectations but yours, and I am unhappy.

And when I dare to look inside myself, when the me in the looking glass reflects the me I truly am, I see you. I see the swirling lines and circles that were you. The gentle curl of your hair, the line of your breasts, the swell of your hips, the contour of your soul—all swooping and looping and forming your fingerprint—

—Because, while brief, the time we spent together helped mold me. You held my heart because you were the first person I trusted, and you taught me how to love. And while I may now love another, I cannot love anyone without feeling you, always.

You'll be with me...