Sometimes I imagine us in another life.

We’d be in the same grade, and we’d have more moments to talk every day. We wouldn’t have only seconds to convey our thoughts to each other, worrying about getting to class on time. I’d have the pleasure of looking into your eyes and seeing every wonderful though behind them.

We’d be in English class, or maybe Algebra. The hour and a half that passed would feel like mere minutes. You’d be smarter than me in everything, but you wouldn’t make me feel stupid. You’d be the reason waking up at the cusp between day and night becomes a little less tedious.

Once the last bell rang, you’d sometimes drive me home, nagging about how I myself should start heading towards earning my learner’s permit. I’d explain for the hundredth time how being the sole responsibility of a metal transportation machine of death sounds incredibly scary. Then the conversation would veer off to something completely unrelated, and next thing you know we’d be in my driveway.

Sometimes we’d call for hours afterwards. Other times I’d be asleep, unable to answer you. But we’d rarely be too busy for each other.

But that life isn’t what I was born into. I’m now in an existence where I can only long for you from afar.

It’s going to take a while for me to be okay with that.