I asked him to wait for me when I was 12 and he was 14. He promised me he would. And I believed him.

He left that summer, leaving behind nothing but his old house on Sycamore Street. 10 years later it still sits there, still with the white curtains in the windows and a rotten porch swing.

The tree in his front yard stands thirsty from the drought with our initials carved in a heart.

Our love, safely documented. Forever haunting me.

I still wait for him. Even thought something inside me says he’s moved on, forgetting the words exchanged between us.

It’s silly for me to possibly believe that he would wait. No one can stop aging to wait for a heartbroken little girl.

It’s impossible. Like the thought of him ever returning.

We used to write back and forth. Each letter was a treasure. Every week there was a new one. And every week I waited impatiently for it to come.

Until the one day it never came.

And I still waited, with faith, that he wouldn’t forget me.

But writing letters took up too much time. And simply he must have had better things to do.

So, he forgot about me.

Forgot to send a letter…

But for some odd reason I still believe that that 14 year old boy I knew is still out there. And still loves…me.

So I still check the mail every day, never forgetting.

And I occasionally pass by his house to see if he has come home.

And I continue to love him.

We had something special. And you might say it was child love. But as I sit on his front porch with tears shedding from my eyes, I know that one day he will come back to say “I love you” again.

As the sun sets ending another day wasted on waiting for what seems to be a lost cause I make my way home. And hope for tomorrow to bring him back.


“Emilee?” I keep walking ignoring the voice in the back of my head.

“Emilee, turn around.”

“Stop it.” I say pushing the thought of his voice out of my head.

“Emilee it’s me,”

“It’s not you, that’s impossible.”

A low chuckle warms my heart. “Turn around,”

One last tear ran from my eye as I turn my head in hopes to see him.

He smiles, “Emilee…I love you.”

And I do see him, right in front of me, with a lost letter in his hand.