When We Were

by Diana Elliot Graham

“When you texted me, regardless of what I had been feeling, or how mad I had been... When I saw you, it was the first time I felt like I wasn’t underwater since you walked out the door.

“Better than you, Reid? That’s really what you think? There was no one better than you.”

Maybe we only know each other through Instagram posts, and a random coffee every few years, but ‘who you were,’ who you were for me,” I say, repeating back the phrase he used with intentional emphasis. “You were the best.”

“For what happened after. I apologize for the fact that even sitting here, despite what I said, about us being better off, about being happy as we are, I feel like I’m fucking twenty-two all over again, ready to pull you into my arms, to throw you over my shoulder. I can still see the future that we could have had if I stayed. The one you currently have.”

It should have been clear that in whatever I said, you wouldn’t be able to think it meant anything but I love you, because I really did love you. There should have been no reality where you looked at me and doubted that.

“You said I didn’t know you, and I accepted that, even knowing it wasn’t true. You felt it, and I wasn’t going to try and prove it to you. But I should have; I should have proved it all. Because you had let me know you, before you knew it, before you ever accepted it, you let me see you, and I fell in love with you for it.”

The first few rounds are here. Where I was calculating the scores and telling him to write them down, but beneath it, words. Notes. Answers. Every turn I played was written here. Only mine. My favorite movie, my coffee order, all the small things I answered.

Next to the word ‘interested,’ he wrote, ‘me too.’ Circled and underlined thrice.

“Closure?” The sound that punctuates that question isn’t a laugh. “Haven’t you realized by now... you and me? There’s no closure for us, for this. There wasn’t then, and there isn’t now. We can only choose to accept

All the time that’s passed, I didn’t know what I was missing. It was you. It was all of this.

“It’s not about us being together now, but I’m here because I needed you to understand, without a shadow of a doubt, how I felt about you when we were. I need you to understand how I felt. How I still feel, in many ways. So, Arden, while there might never be closure for us, finally, there can be understanding.”

“I’ve missed you. You were the love of my life, and I will always care about you more than circumstance allows.”

I needed her to know that despite everything. She was the love of my life, the love of that life.

“Reid, you can miss me now, the way I miss you. The way I think I’ll always miss you. But I learned a long time ago that you can miss something without wanting it back. Knowing that what you miss is just the memory. The version we preserve to protect the imprint of something, or someone, important.”

I check my wallet. Yep, I’ve got a hundred ready to pay up for the best bet I ever lost.

Maybe this chapter isn’t over.

For me, I thawed in winter. Warmed in ways I hadn’t expected. Layers of ice melting, evaporating overtime. Only to refreeze when everyone else shed their coats.

“You’ve never been just one thing, Arden. You’re incredible and will be incredible in whatever you choose.”

“I want us to be friends.” “Okay, AB. Let’s be friends.”

Maybe if the rest of the story is over, we can stay in the margins for just a bit longer like this.

We won’t be who we were when we were them. Who we were when we were happy in the blissful ignorance of ‘young love’ or whatever it is people say to be cliché. Whatever it is, people call it to make you feel like you’re under a common spell and prepare you for the idea that it isn’t permanent in any way that matters. And you aren’t unique for experiencing it. We won’t be who we were. But we will both be who we should.

You can love a memory without loving the person. And as I look at him, I know that the love we have for each other in this moment is that.

“One.” He holds up a finger, and lets the soft smile pull on his lips. “I loved you.” “Two.” He extends a second finger, and the smile falls flat. “Not enough.”

Standing on the corner outside the coffee shop, in that silly political tee shirt. She stole my breath away. But I would never be the thief of her happiness.

“You were the love of my life also.” “Arden.”

“I used to think that maybe you were just the right person but at the wrong time. You know? Like maybe there would be a time for us. That there would be other chapters, but you would eventually be my epilogue. But I was wrong.

You loved someone else, someone I used to be, and maybe I’m still her, and maybe in some ways you’re still him, but it was never going to be enough, and we won’t be them again, at least not together.”

Knowing that when I let go, we let go. We choose to breathe. The ember is out. It’s now just ash.

DUMPED: An Almost Lost Love Story By: Amanda Bentley

To my best friend, who never let losing a great love, prevent her from loving greatly.

And it’s not in mourning, but acknowledgement that some houses, no matter how beautiful, only have blueprints. They remain unfinished wood frames, the empty foundation on a plot of land. While visiting might be a gift, one I’ve been given, it’s not home.