I was fourteen years old when I met him. He looked like the boy of my dreams, and he looked like the boy who would be made for me.
He was nothing, and everything, to me.
Now, I am on the cusp of my sixteenth year. We stare at each other in something that may be regret.
Regret, and reminisce. He takes her hand.
I turn away.
This is the story for today.
