Prose as subsitution for talking aloud.

This evening I went biking. A band of kids about my age crowded the bridge I usually cross. My anti-social tendencies kicked in, and I was forced to take the path through the trees. The first time I came here was with you. The last time I came here was with you. We walked barefoot, not worrying if sharp objects lie in wait, or if the path led anywhere. I don't want to go this way anymore. I don't want to think of you. I don't want to think of you because all of the memories are good. You never did anything wrong. Always honest. Sincere. A gentleman.

You have a way of listening to the stories I had forgotten I wanted to tell, not judging or reacting how other people might expect you to. I recall your listening face. And the way your eyes lit up when you chuckled at something. You never really outright laughed. It was always a chuckle or a smirk. As I continue on I pass the field we lay in. It was dark and the stars were out. I used you as a pillow telling you, "If you get uncomfortable, let me know and I'll move." You replied, "I don't think I'll ever be uncomfortable."

It's hard to remember what we talked about. But I remember the feeling. The calmness. How right everything felt. Our thing was walking about each others neighborhoods, showing favourite spots and secret places. You asked deep questions, I gave on the surface answers. But we were comfortable with each other. You peed in the forest we were in. Which is rather funny. We battled on some odd metal workout implements and you let me win. We sat in your room and you showed me your treasures, which truly were treasures since you keep very little. You don't even have a bed.

In my room we used the carpet as a new place to lay. You asked why my ceiling said "Here comes the Sun." In response I made you listen to the Beatles...but the tapes were all wrong. Outtakes and extras. Maybe that was a better introduction to them, though. Walking my streets we saw an armadillo. We walked so far. I grabbed your hand briefly to ensure you followed me as I carefully balanced on the curb.

Before I left for Minnesota. That was when you came over. As you were ready to leave (later than expected since you extended your curfew) we held each other by your car. Your head was able to rest on top of mine, something I usually find annoying, but here it was cute. You asked if you could drive up and visit. I wouldn't let you. But I wrote a letter. Something I've never done for anyone. And drew you pictures. Of the room I was staying in. Of cupcakes and spiders and a leaf. Watercoloured. I may have sent you some random trinkets as well. I don't remember.

On your 18th birthday I went out to dinner with your family. You changed your name to Thomas. Well, really just made that your first name, leaving Christopher to trail behind and become a first middle name. When I first met you at Beach Bash I teased you and polled everyone around asking, "Excuse me, does this boy look like a 'Thomas' to you?" I don't know what you saw in me. I don't know why I was made a group leader when I have such weak faith and leading skills. I do know that I made an effort to know you. Or introduce myself at least.

You saw me at my physical worst:::in a bathing suit covered by shorts and a tanktop for the sake of modesty, hair worn down by the ocean and makeup an atrocity. Really, what was appealing at all? Is it that I introduced myself while we were in the ocean? That we built a sandcastle together? We exchanged numbers and texted all the way home. We exchanged books. You have 100 selected poems by e.e. cummings, I have your Selected Works of Robert Frost and a dark, illustrated childrens book. I wonder if you want them back as much as I want mine back. I wonder if you want to see me.

Tonight I texted you with a simple hello. You said it was a pleasure hearing from me. The last time we actually saw each other you were a caterpillar, and preoccupied with your next show and greeting your family. I pretended it was okay, since I was with friends. I wonder what earring you're wearing right now. If it's your cross, or one of the ones you got for your birthday. The ridiculous, oversized square. One of the drama faces. Or if you have something new. I wonder if you ever did get your tobacco pipe, and if you've added any new treasures to your collection. I wonder how things worked out with the girl you said you ruined things with. I wonder if you will reconsider me, since I have sorted some issues out now.

I have more. But I don't want to think about it. And I feel like I'm using you as a last resort. Since he's taken and he never considered me and she's ironic and she's not interested and she's desperate and he's just a friend and he's obnoxious and she's obnoxious. Mostly I miss your eyes. No, I miss your freckles too. And the way you blush so easily. And your voice. I feel like I know you so well, but at the same time not at all. I want to create a change in my life.