It’s 2:30 am, and as I peek out around my curtains, he’s still there. He’s been there since I got from practice yesterday afternoon. He’s just sitting there, and I don’t know what to make of him. When my dad came home from work, all he said was,
“Do you know him?”
Oh, I know him alright. In fact, I probably know him better than his own sister. The number of times we would lie on a blanket in the park, looking at the stars as they filled the skies, is innumerable. I loved him, then. Not anymore, I don’t think. After several years together, I had lost myself in him. I knew more about him than I did myself. Now, it’s different. I know who I am and who I want to be. I don’t know him like I used to, but maybe that’s good.
And so, as I look at him from my window, I decide I want to know him again. So I walk down the stairs, slip out the front door, and walk down the driveway. I sit down beside him and put my arm through his. And now, I feel it. I’m finally content.