I remember the very first day I met you.
I was the shy one in the corner, and you were over there, talking and laughing with your friends.
I wished you would come over and talk to me, but you didn't even know I was in the room.
I remember the first day you talked to me; I had never been more excited about anything.
As days went by, we became closer; we could talk about anything.
We laughed, told dumb stories, and cracked jokes-- basically anything that kept the conversation going.
We always knew how to have fun together.
I remember how happy I would get when your name showed up on my phone, and how devastated I was when it wasn't you.
I remember how well we'd hit it off, and I thought to myself, “Maybe I actually have a chance this time.”
I remember how amazing I felt the first day we hung out alone, when it felt like we were the only two people left on Earth.
I remember that nervous giddy feeling I'd get any time someone so much as mentioned your name.
Most importantly, though, I remember the day it all stopped.
The butterflies, the conversations, the jokes-- they had completely vanished.
Every time I saw you, you'd smile at me, and it took everything for me to smile back.
I remember asking myself what I'd done to make this happen.
I felt like it was my fault that you slipped through my fingers.
I remember wanting to talk to you, but you ignored me the same way you had before we met-- like I was invisible.
I remember crying myself to sleep, wondering where I'd gone wrong, how it could end like that.
I remember having to remind myself every day that this wasn't the end of the world.
For the longest time, I remember doing everything in my power to get over you.
But every now and then, I remember all the amazing times we had, and I wonder what could have been.
I remember the feeling of knowing I had fallen completely head-over-heels for you.
And sometimes, though not often, I wonder if you remember, too.