I'd like to imagine one day I will run into you 20 years from now. Maybe at the grocery store. We're both shopping for our families, the one we built without each other. Your eyes will light up when you see me, but only for a second, before the memories catch up and remind us what we lost. We'll smile politely, like the pain we caused is buried but not forgotten. We'll laugh about how young and foolish we were and how we thought forever meant something. We'll say our goodbyes and return to the lives that grew from the ruins of us. We never got the chance to take our honeymoon, to slow dance barefoot in a hotel kitchen with leftover wedding cake in the fridge. We never got the chance to play Santa for our kids, to stay up wrapping gifts at 2:00 a.m., while whispering, trying not to wake them up. We never got the chance to argue over where the couch should go or what color to paint the bedroom. We never got the chance to grow tired of each other, but stay anyway to fight and sit in silence, but still wake up choosing one another, even when it was hard. We never got the chance to live the quiet, boring, beautiful life we once talked about. It was supposed to be till death do us part, but we didn't even make it to adulthood. We didn't get the vows, we only got the heartbreak, and I still carry it in the quiet moments when no one is looking. As I get home from the grocery store that night, I won't tell my husband who I ran into. Some memories are mine alone. And as I fall asleep, I will remember you. I'll remember us. 20 years ago, my hands still running through your hair, my heart still in your hands, as we dreamt of a future we never got to live.
