I met an old friend of mine again.

The familiar laugh and the same pretty eyes I adored years ago. It's funny that in the end, you'll know that sometimes, the only way to keep people you love is to keep them as friends.



We climbed the most beautiful part of the city. Under the dim sky and above the bright lights, we talked about how we spent our lives while apart.



"Do you remember when I used to say that I love you?" I said



"Yes, I remember."



"We were only seventeen then."




She nodded.




"I'm sorry."




"For what?"


"I was young, I was in my most emotional years. I never knew what love was then, but I said it nonetheless. And now that I know better, I am apologizing for that. I felt as if I lied and I am apologizing for the lies."



She looked at me and my mouth and I looked back.



"I said that I loved you, but who am I to say that? I knew all your stories, the ones that I think you tell to everyone. I knew your favorites. I knew the way you walk and how you laugh, because I saw how you did them. And that's what striked me. I never got to experience you. I never got to run around the streets at night with you. I never got to be the one who hugged you when you were in your most fragile state. I only knew the thing I know about you, because I observed you from afar. I knew those and interpreted them. Who am I to say that I love you, when you're just in my thoughts?

I'm sorry."

As absurd as it sounds, I felt like a ticking bomb, assured that soon, this will all be over and I just had to let it all out.


And we both agreed at points.



We shared what's left of us.


And when the night was over, we hugged and agreed to fill each other again with our stories the next time we meet.