Lately I've been thinking, Sandy. Lost in thought. Lost in the past. I've been thinking about you. About our time together. About us.
How long ago it seems, two winters and a summer. I can remember holding you next to me in the darkness of my room. I can remember your laugh. I remember the time I tried to cook dinner for you. Do you remember, Sandy? Spaghetti with homemade sauce and apple crumble. I forgot to take the peels off the apples, and the wine I bought was terrible. Do you remember, Sandy? I do.
I remember the way you laughed when I told you I still loved you. You seemed to think this was some sort of school boy crush that I'd get over in time. I never told you that again.
But Sandy, I haven't. I've tried to move on, and there've been others since you. But whenever one of them comes crashing down I always find myself drawn back to you, back to the affection and security you once offered, hoping to find some trace of it still there in your eyes.
I know now it will never be the same. That those moments of joy and happiness are trapped forever in the past. You moved on long ago, but I never have. Our infrequent get togethers over coffee just serve to drive this point home.
How mature you look now, no longer the naive girl who rested her head on my shoulder all those nights ago. You've grown up, you've changed. I've changed too, but at the same time I haven't grown.
I'll never tell you these things, Sandy, but at night, when the only light comes from the cars outside my window, when my tiny bed seems so big, so cold, so empty, at these times, Sandy, I swear I can still see your face, still feel you next to me.
I'm still the same boy I was, Sandy. Lost, frightened, lonely, and dreaming of you.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent.