A Retelling of Events That Never Happened.

The memories of you, as they exist in both real world reality and my personal one, are so few. But I remember them so vividly. The first time I saw you, your eyes hidden behind sunglasses. I remember thinking—and later, saying—that it must make you feel so vulnerable to look at all those people and know they’re staring back at you, trying to claim a piece of your soul for their own.

I remember the second time, the exact way your eyes looked when they found mine and asked a simple question that will remain engraved on my bones forever. The way your hand so casually found my shoulder.

You’ve always seemed so much older than me, but that day we were both our true ages and you understood me fully, if only for a moment.

I wish it could have been like that for always.

*

Following the split, I just wanted to rewind time. I tried to force out stories that took place before, tried to convince myself the part of my mind tied to writing that it hadn’t happened. It didn’t work. I couldn’t go back, not even in fiction.

Two nights ago I woke up with a picture of you in my mind at nineteen or twenty. You’ve been the same age since. In the stories you’re younger and in the brain pairings of you with others, you’re younger. The split hasn’t happened yet.

And that explains why we haven’t talked in a few days. I didn’t know you back then. Time travel is such a funny thing.