  I've been staring at this blank screen for hours now, waiting for something to come to me. I've started writing dozens of poems and dozens of letters, but nothing seemed to accurately convey the feelings I still have for you. That linger inside of my brain, that stay locked forever inside of my heart. You still smile at me from a picture I have taped inside of one of my notebooks. You still have that power over me. You still have a large piece of my heart.
I was fifteen when I took that picture of you. Actually, it was my fifteenth birthday. You got me doughnuts, because it is what I asked of you. There's so much more I ask of you now, but, alas, you can not hear this, you will never read this, and all of this wishing will be in vain. In roughly half year, you shaped me in ways that you will undoubtedly never know. Ways that I will probably never fully understand.
Sure. There have been girls since you, and you're right, I did love one of them. But why...why then did I always think of you. Why would I feel so lost and angry and hurt when I would look at this picture of you. This picture in my notebook. We were fifteen.
Fifteen. Too old to leave well enough alone and just be friends, too young to understand about love and how powerful of a force one's emotions really can be. You're sixteenth birthday, I got you a necklace, and wrapped it tightly in purple tissue paper. What was it? Gold..something. A cross.
A gold cross with sparkly stones of some sort in it. Where is that now, I can't help but wonder. Surely, at best, it's tucked in a hidden drawer or packed in a box somewhere. You come across it, once in a while, I would imagine. When you see it there, tucked in the drawer or buried among the other cheap and meaningless trinkets in your jewellery box, do you remember me? Do you think of all those conversations we would carry out on the phone, while playing grown up and pretending what we had was a real relationship?
I was afraid to touch you. I was afraid to put my arms around you or wrap my hand around yours. What would have happened, had it all happened years later? What would have happened had we just met now? Would we fall madly in love, or have some sort of meaningless fling - try desperately to seduce one another, and loose interest a short time later? I suppose there is no way to know, or much point in trying to guess... You were looking good the last time I saw you.
Had I not been on my way to the pawn shop to get money for rye, I would have invited you out for an evening. Either to catch up on old times or to get into your pants. Or both. But still, circumstance is circumstance, and I didn't feel that bringing you to the pawn shop with me would have really helped anyway, better to have you see me smiling, walking the mall with a friend, and hardly give you a passing glance. I've still got my pride. But I don't have you.
You would think, 5 years later, I would have gotten over such a stupid and petty teenage relationship. And really, I have. I guess you're still in my heart though, and when I listen to the music of the era, I am always reminded of you. The way you said the word horses, and your perfect teeth. It's late now, and I admit, I might be a little drunk, but I've been drinking these memories like they are wine. Not to mention the vodka I just finished.
I don't do this often, but I've been drowning in my sorrows ever since I hung up the phone...ever since you hugged me in Rome. Rome. Do you remember Rome? I didn't talk to you the entire time we were there, although at the time, I was still very much in love with you. Well, a different type of love than I have for you now. I hated every single second I was around you, because I wanted to be the one sitting there on the rooftops, breathing in that italian night air, laughing with you.
It wasn't me though, it never could be. And so, I wait for you. Next time I see you, I will invite you to come out. And to find this, all you have to do is type my name, Tanner Waldo, into Google. We will meet again, I assure you. What will come of it, though, I can only wish.... 
