Let’s not allow imagination to blur our sight with reality.

I hate remembering.

Memory is both a gift and a curse. It is an undeniable statement.

I would close my eyes and see the way she used to look at me.

So endearingly.

So caringly.

So lovingly.

Brown eyes so captivating. I would tilt my head and about her height, how far her neck would have to reach just to look at me.

She would giggle, hit my arm softly and say it doesn’t cramp if you put in half the effort. And I always did.

But then my eyes would have to open at some point. And when they opened, I saw her. Walking side by side with her friend-turned-girlfriend and turning to give her the strongest hug.

I would close my eyes and see her with her shy face, looking downward as she confessed her crush on me.

But I would open my eyes and see her with her face engulfed in a heat with the other girl.

I would close my eyes and go back to the time where I decided that it wasn’t time for us to be in a relationship. Education comes first and all else comes next. I’m learning for my future. I do not have time to waste on others. I am selfish.

I would then open my eyes. My heart lurches forward when I see her in the morning. My heart drops when she would greet me like an acquaintance.

I would close my eyes just to go back to the time where she held me in her arms and told me it was going to be alright.

But when I chose to open them again, all I would see was a false promise. All I could see are lies upon lies upon lies that were masked as sweet whisperings of nothingness.

I would close my eyes and open them again just to regain the confidence that I once had with her.

I would approach her to tell her how I feel. How stupid I was to tell her that I wasn’t ready in the first place.

I would get to where she sat at lunch.

I would stand in front of her.

She would look up at me with questioning eyes.

I would close my eyes.

Open.

She would ask me are you alright?

I would smile, nod, and walk away.

Because she chose to not wait for me.

Because she chose to not think of me.

Because memories are for cowards who choose not to move on.