Him

I hate him. I hate this feeling in my chest that he put there. I hate the aching that I feel when I remember him. I hate that I loved him. No, I still love him. First love doesn’t die like you want it to. It stays deep in your chest; waiting for any memory of him then fills your mind with longing just to hear his voice once more. He did this to me, yet I can’t hate him. I could never hate him, no matter what.

I light a cigarette. But once I inhale the smoke, it doesn’t comfort me. It makes me sick with remembrance. I cough a little on my next exhale, something I haven’t done since I began smoking years ago. I finish my smoke, and step on it. The people around me don’t notice me. Maybe because they don’t want to notice me, they’re busy. They’re all busy with thoughts of work, and stressed with the thought of maybe being late. One year ago I was one of them. Always checking my clock to make sure I would always be five minutes early and walking without noticing anyone or anything around me.
This is where we first met, me and him. Of course I knew that when my mind was telling me to come here. It was on this day one year ago that he saved me. It was on this day everything changed just because of him.