I might have loved this boy once.

I’m not sure, and maybe it doesn’t matter one way or another. 

But once upon a time I looked to him for comfort, and once upon a time he wanted to be there for me. It was good while it lasted – being wanted, coveted, appreciated, being held, knowing that that young, naive, stupid boy was swooning over a young, naive, stupid me. It was so good while it lasted, and it only lasted a month, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. 

And now we’re both less young, less naive, and maybe slightly less stupid. 

I haven’t spoken to him in ages. 

I think I want to know him again.

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