You were my best friend, and now, you’re gone. I lost you in a crowd, I tried to save you but I didn’t want to risk losing myself. You were my only connection to other people, without you, I am nothing.
I became an outsider. A social dart board. I could only stand there and take it. You were the only person who stood up for me, the only one who could protect me. Whenever people made me feel low, I’d think of you. Because you would never let it get to me.
I worshiped you. I thought that if I prayed, wished and hoped that you would come back and save me. I didn’t even know where you went, but I prayed that you would come back home. I would place roses on your doorstep every year on your birthday. It was a symbol to God to bring you back to me.
After a while, I gave up on trying. I figured that if I spent years of my life trying tracking you down to no avail, I would never find you.
I became depressed. My life was on a downward spiral, giving up on you was the final shove over the edge. I stopped playing the flute, I stopped caring about my family, and I let my grades slip. And worst of all, I tried to get rid of everything that reminded me of you. I put all my pictures of us in a box and stuck it in the back of my closet.
I even tried cutting my wrists.
In September, high school started. I became more of a freak than I was before. People shunned me. I never needed to use my voice during school; sometimes I forgot I had one. If I did the work, the teachers would leave me be. I would walk to school alone every morning. On my bad days, I'd imagine you were there with me.
People never cared about me. I was invisible to the normal human being. One day that changed.
A girl came up to me and said that a boy had returned from New York and was looking for some girl he used to know. I never really cared. I waved her off as a deranged cheerleader and continued on with my pathetic life.
When I got home that day, there was a moving truck parked in your old driveway. Maybe it was the boy the psychopathic cheerleader was blabbing about? I didn’t want to know. I just watched from my bedroom window as the family unpacked their life from the back of a U-Haul.
I guess it was the boy. I saw him helping his mother carry boxes into the house, placing them in your old living room. He looked like you, but I doubted it was. So I grabbed a picture out of my closet and compared it to his face. Maybe it was him?
I gave up. If it was really you, you would have come looking for me.

Hours past and my mother made me take out the trash. I wandered out in the darkness by myself, carrying the bag of food remains to the garbage bin.
I slipped on my shoe laces and spilt trash all over the ground. That was when I saw him. He was taking out bags of trash to the bins across from mine. He looked at me like everyone else did. Like a ghost. Like something was there, but if you looked close enough there really wasn’t.
I picked the garbage and muttered to myself, hoping he’d go away. He didn’t. He just stood there and stared at me like the sad girl I was. When I stood, my hood fell backward off my head, revealing my hair fire red hair. I scrambled to get my hood back up and walk away, when I heard you gasp.
“Kendall?” You asked.
It had been you all this time. You were the boy from New York; you were the boy who was looking for me. You had remembered me and wanted me back. After all this time.
“Cameron?” I asked, stepping towards you.
“Kendall! I have missed you so much.” I ran up to me and hugged me tight, pushing my hood away from my face.
“I knew you would come back for me.”