when we were three years old, you would push me on the swing with all your might, but i'd only rise a few feet off the ground. but then again, back then, it seemed like a hundred feet, and we were both exhilarated, and happy.
when we were eleven, we would spend a weekend just running around the garden, making mud pies and 'discovering' treasures 'hidden' in the dirt. when our mud pies would fill the steps, we'd upturn them back onto the earth, and we were both dirty, and happy.
when we were seventeen, we would climb to the top of a hill on weekends and stay there till the sun rises, accompanied by lingering touches and mums' food. when sunrays blinked into our eyelids, we'd half slide, half laugh our way down the hill, and we were both tired, and happy.
when we were twenty-three, we would sit cross-legged from one other in your apartment, not daring to look in each other's eyes, and staring at our fingertips instead, which were centimeters apart. then one of us would reach out of pull the other into a desperate kiss, and we were both in love, and happy.
when we were twenty-seven, i was sitting in a pew, looking straight ahead, and it would hit me again that i'd never actually told you that i loved you and still do. i'm ready to today, but you're not here, you're not waiting; you've left. you kiss your bride full on the lips and i flinch as you look at me with regret in your eyes. when the reception starts, i leave, you stay, and we're broken.