For the Sunday classics.

I never got to touch you or see you. I remember wanting to hear your voice and hanging up after a call that would only give me a "hello?". I could never reply, even though you loved me too. But I don't remember it anymore, you know? Your voice.

I never got to hug you. I never got to kiss you. Sometimes I think I can still remember your laugh. And how I used to love your smile so much. How you kept trying to hide behind that stupid towel so I wouldn't stare so much. I never got to meet you and I never got to hold your hand.

And now I don't know if you're alive or not. I don't know a thing about you anymore, only what it used to be. I find myself not being able to tell your last name or how old you are now or why you made me love you but never came to me. Why did you?

Was I in love with our sorrow, and how you understood me so well? Was it because I found shelter in your words when I had nothing else to hold on to? Were all our plans just silly jokes? Did they sound like the truth, behind our laughter, to you too?

I wish I could talk to you and realise that you're doing great. Are you still studying, did you find a new job? How does your room look after all that redecorating, and is everything ok? Did you find a new love, do you think of me some days?

I think of you. And how silly I was back then, to believe so many of our shared dreams. Not that they became stupid thoughts, but things changed too much. I changed too much. But I'll always be thankful that I had you back then, that we loved each other back then.

I miss you, and I hope you miss me too.