I want to forget.
I remember the first time I really noticed you. In that class, when I was trying to reach paper towels, and you, you didn’t even move when I apologetically moved closer to you to reach. Yet more came out of the first semester when nothing happened, when I was less aware of your quiet presence. I spoke to you, finally, the last day of class. One sentence or two. Once when you initiated the conversation, second time when I initiated it. But I was so close to you both times. So close.
I have no idea if it was infatuation on my end only. But the painful memory of the deliberate turn of your head as you looked in my direction, and I, yours before the start of every class during the latter part of the last semester I’d ever see you again.. it makes me die a little inside. Spring 2014. I wanted to say something, but I was too damn scared. Every. Single. Time. And now it’s too late. Instead, now I look back to regret every single time I did not speak to you. It really hurts. And I’m really sorry.
I want to forget the past two semesters altogether. To forget you. It’s incredibly painful to recall what I could have done, what may have been, yet was never, and will never be reality.
Because of me.
Because it’s too late.