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I had watched you from across the room, looking over the cover of the textbook I was pretending to read. You laughed with his friends, throwing paper airplanes across the room to the dismay of our sub. Noticing my gaze you waved, smile lighting up your face. I blushed and waved back shyly. We had been best friends for years. Best friends, nothing more.
We walked home together, just like always. Laughing and joking, running and dodging cars, mocking the angry faces of the drivers. But then our topic turned to her. You wanted to ask her to the prom but were scared.
“What if she says ‘no’” you had asked, your beautiful brown eyes troubled. I had smiled gently.
“You can always go with me.” I had thought. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.” I had replied instead, because who wouldn’t want to go with you? You had looked relieved and said you would try the next day; that you would think of something amazing, and had asked if I would help. I wanted to say no, say that I couldn’t go because it would hurt too much for me to hear you gush about her. But I had said yes.
We sat down in your room, on the beanbag chairs that were still stained from our fourth grade experiments.
“I want to do something big.” You had said, your eyes excited. “Something that’s never been done before! Something amazing, that she’ll never forget!” You were right. She would never forget what had happened.
“Well, you could write on her locker…” I suggested, picking at the skirt of my uniform, trying to forget what we were talking about.
“No, no, no!” you had complained. “Something better!”
“Uh, announce it over the loudspeaker!” I said, growing frustrated. “Write it on the water tower, I don’t care!” I exploded, throwing my hands up. I couldn’t watch you fawn over her any longer. But your eyes lit up.
“Perfect!” you had yelled, hugging me. I blushed, wishing your embrace meant more. You had patted me on the back, beaming, and ran out the door to buy spray paint. I told you to stop, that I had been joking, that you would be arrested. But you were young. You didn’t hear me.
It was late that night when I got the call. You had fallen down while spray painting your message. Your neck broke on impact and you died instantly. I never got to say goodbye.
It’s been ten years now. I found a couple of our old photos the other day. We looked so happy, not knowing what was coming. I hope that wherever you are you can see this letter and know how I felt about you. How I feel about you. I never stopped loving you.
I miss you.
Do you miss me?