I wish you wouldn't see me.

I wish you wouldn't talk to me.

I wish you wouldn't say you've been thinking about me on a certain summer day, when the air is warm and there are crisp green leaves on your lawn, just like that very first day I came over and sat beneath the oak tree with you.

I wish you wouldn't ask me how I am, not because I don't want you to, because we both know it's one of the things that make me happy, but because I could lie to you and say I'm fine, or I could tell you the truth and explain why I'm not, and either way, you wouldn't really care.

It may be the hardest thing, to believe that I'm still going on about you - about us, after all this time. The truth is, centuries could pass by and I probably still would be smitten, head over heels not over you. You have been to me what I never thought I would have in my entire life - hope. 

What hurts most is when I think about how you never really meant to hurt me. They'd say boys will be boys, and it's true, you can be a real jerk when you want to, but if I'm sure about only one thing in the world, it's that not once did you plan to break me the way you had; the way you still do.

You've been good. Too good, even, from the very beginning to the last and final goodbye. Remember how you told me you understood? I wish you hadn't. I wish you asked me why, at least once, so that I could tell you what was wrong. You thought you were giving me an easy way out, holding the door as I leave, believing so strongly that you weren't good enough for me. But you were. How I wish you knew you were. 

I wish I could say it's hard to remember how it was with us, but it was the best time of my life, and it haunts me day by day. You're happy, and I'm happy knowing this, but can you really blame me for wanting to know if any of that was real?

If you were the one stuck where I am right now, would you write your heart out to me?