2:00 AM

I wish someday, while walking down a busy street of my small town,

I run into the guy whose heart I broke in 9th grade.

And I hope he stops—

a little stunned—then smiles,

waving his hand up high,

just like he used to do in school back then.

And I would finally gather the courage to tell him how much it aches me,

knowing I broke his little heart.

I’d tell him nobody has ever loved me the way he did.

Nobody has ever looked at me the way he did that day,

when he spiked the winning score in the final volleyball match—

and while the whole ground erupted,

his eyes searched for only one face:

the girl by the 9-C classroom window.

I’d say I am sorry for just disappearing,

for telling him to never, ever find me again.

That I thought he was being “too much.”

That I was so lost in everything at 14,

I abandoned the love he gave me.

I’d tell him if I could turn back time, I would, but I can’t, so…

I will say I am sorry.

And that I was a kid—

a kid who forgot, back then,

that he was a kid too.