amortentia

Do you remember me? We laid in the grass together after your soccer practices, and you told me about that man. It’s funny how you can fall asleep in a ditch with someone one November and become complete strangers the next. 

I remember the softness of your arms, how gentle your embrace was, like you were afraid to hurt anyone the way you were. I don’t mean this in a romantic way; I’m in love now, and never was in love with you. It was childish lust, or a need for companionship. 

The last day I saw you will never leave me. It was June and hot, but you wore long sleeves again, and so did I, and we both knew what we’d done. You never spoke of it, and neither did I, but we hugged a little longer that day, and you held my hand a little tighter. You don’t know my name anymore. One syllable, then two, the ones you knew; now four you’ll never speak. 

I hope that man is gone, whoever he was. You were just a boy then, and next month you’ll be a man. I can’t think of you as a man. You didn’t treat me like one.