I wish I could touch pen to paper and erase all of our memories together. I would write them all down—every smile, each tear. I'd crumple up the inked paper, tear it into confetti, and celebrate the end of six years.
If I could turn these moments into ripped-up puzzle parts, I'd piece together a different story: one where we don't meet, and there are no broken hearts. Yes, I remember Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Just look at Clementine and Joel. They turned out just fine. Things that are meant to be have their ways of working out. But you couldn't see that with your heart immersed in self-doubt.
If I could forget, I wouldn't remember long drives in your car, my first time seeing fireflies, or turning your ceiling into a sea of stars. I wouldn't remember all the times you forgot: birthdays, dance performances, dates that meant a lot.
I mostly want to forget all the promises and plans. I always looked forward to the future because I knew our present was damned.
Before I forget, I just want to say, “It was you who said that I was the one who got away.”
Now I’m ready. Erase it all—even the glimpses of happiness and joy. Heartbreak is the risk you take when loving a boy.