For a while at least, it seemed like they were written in the stars.
They first met in high school. Both lived in the same middle-class suburban neighborhood. He was the new kid from out of state who was quickly building a reputation for trouble and all things bad. She was the country girl, destined to build love just to watch it fall.
It started out small. They had mutual friends and would occasionally bump into each other around the neighborhood—parks, the pond, the bus stop…
But one thing led to another, and like any other high school infatuation, it quickly blossomed into something that threatened to shatter trust and break hearts.
They began talking through social media—flirtatious messages that would carry on through all hours of the night. That could only satisfy so much though. Whatever they had, it was growing. Soon, they began sneaking out in the late of night, creeping through the streets of their sleeping neighborhood and hanging out at the park together. On their last night together, he snuck her into his house. He took her up to his room and together, they laid on the bed where they shared a kiss that wasn’t meant to be relived until almost a decade later.
Then, as mysteriously as it began, it ended. Both moved on and found new love elsewhere.
Nine years later, that country girl found herself thinking back to the boy who left her with heartache. She looked him up on social media and sent him a message.
Hey! Remember me?
And of course he did. The memories bombarded the shores of his sanity like a tsunami.
They set up a lunch together that unfolded into much more than either could’ve expected. Much more than either were prepared to handle. Maybe too much, and at a completely wrong time. At the end of the lunch, he grabbed her hand as she began walking away. “Wait,” he said. He cupped her face in his palm and kissed her lips gently. His stomach fluttered with the wings of a million swarming butterflies—something he’d never felt.
Sadly, as beautiful as the love story began, it’s final pages are much more disastrous; the words covering them written in blood and crying out in heartbreak. Just like every story has to begin, every story has to end.
But within their little love story, a bookmark is placed on a very specific chapter. In it, the two are in separate cars, driving side by side down a road on a winter’s afternoon. They pull up to a stoplight. She looked at him and smiled–that dimpled grin he knew he’d forever love. Then he opened his car door, got out, leaned in through her passenger window, and kissed her. When he got back into his car, he tried to smile as he looked at her. She waved to him and mouthed the words Bye, I love you. Then the light turned green, and the two drove their separate ways.