This Is Everything I Will Remember About Us

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woman in sunflower field

By Kristen Buccigrossi

I remember everything.

I know that isn’t something that you want to hear, but I remember every word, every move, everything that you have ever said to me.

I remember everything about us because I knew from the moment that I met you, something was special. Something was right. Something clicked, and I thought, this could be it, he could be the one to make me forget about the big heartbreak.

You could be the one to get me over him. He could be my person.

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I remember when we met, the cool way you swooped in. I wasn’t even really paying attention to you, but you knew how to grab it and keep me locked in.

Maybe it was the alcohol or your confidence, but you knew how to stop me in my tracks and make me notice you.

You looked at me as if there was no one else around, and for a moment, I forgot about everything and everyone. I wanted to know you, I wanted to be with you, I wanted you to be mine.

When I look back, I remember that I should have listened to the warning that I got from the stranger who told me to stay clear of you.

I may not have ever met her, but that day, I heard it in her voice, as you gave me back my phone, she told me to stay clear.

I should have believed her when she said that you weren’t as good as you seemed to be standing in front of me.

I should have trusted the act of a stranger’s voice over those brown eyes ripping through my soul.

I remember fighting for your attention after that meeting. I have no idea why I did. I didn’t need to. I shouldn’t have wanted to.

I had other guys in the picture, but there was something about you. You would come in waves, crashing down on my heart, making me desperate for air, but also making me desperate to drown.

You had this way of making me addicted to you without even being in my presence and I was like an addict who needed more. I just wanted something more.

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I remember our first time together.

I was broken. My health was failing, my liver overworked from drinking too much, and I needed you to pull the wool over my eyes; to make the pain go away.

I was desperate for you to see me in a different light. I was in need of you to see that you should be the one fighting for me.

I wanted nothing more than to be the person that you held on to, even if it was just for the night. After that, I remember everything got hazy.

I remember you saying you weren’t ready for a commitment, followed by silence. I remember thinking that I could wait, but then you found yourself with someone else.

I let time pass, I moved on in my own ways, I stopped looking for the good in you.

When that failed, you came back to me, the girl who was always there for you. The girl that catered to your every need. The girl who would be there at a moment’s notice.

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I remember feeling like a stranger in your bed because that’s what I was after all this time. A stranger to you, and yet, you made me fall back in.

I was back to this again, fighting for you. Fighting to make you see that I was good for you. Fighting for a place for me in your world. Fighting to make you see that you weren’t the only guy interested in me. Fighting for your attention. Fighting for you to care.

All I did was fight and all you did was bask in the glory that you had your side girl wrapped around your finger all along.

I remember our last time together, fighting for you to see me with different eyes.

I was desperate to hold on to the strands of what we had left but ready to let go for my own sanity.

You didn’t want me and yet, I still believed you did.

You didn’t want to commit to anything too serious, and yet, I thought I could change you.

You didn’t want a serious relationship, and yet, you found it with her.

And now I remember this hole in my heart, the place you used to be, is just a reminder of all the things that could have been, but will never be.

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Kristen Buccigrossi is a writer whose work has been published on Huffington Post, Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, Unwritten, and more. Visit her website for more.

This article was originally published at Unwritten. Reprinted with permission from the author.