We spent the first few months of summer jealous of what the other's life was becoming, and the next few trying to be just what the other person had been to us. For the entire year following, we would envy each other when, at that very same moment, we were still each other’s inspiration.

For the next few months you will still watch hear about the things I’ve been doing, and you’ll remember when you did those things, too, and you’ll ask yourself when you gave them up. You should know that I don’t think you’ll ever really be able to give them up. You should know that every time I do those things I think about you.

I haven’t heard from you in months and sometimes, when I’m bored, I look at your Facebook wall or I look at old pictures of us and I formulate this idea of you.

I sure hope you haven’t changed much. Not because I expect to jump back into the way things were, and not because I don’t want another reason to be jealous of your new life. I hope you haven’t changed much because the more you change the less I know you. And the less I know you, the less I can imagine what you’re like. Suppose you’ve dyed your hair now, suppose you got taller or thinner and suppose you wear different clothes, play a different sport, or maybe you’re one those people who likes their coffee black and their shorts short? I don’t want you to change because I really, really don’t want to accept the fact that: you and I? We’ve both moved on.

Anyways, it’s a Sunday night and I’m sitting on my roof and somehow I just started thinking about you. I was imaging me saying all this to you, but I don’t know if I’d ever be brave enough. The only thing I can do right now is remember all those great times we had together. Screw those great times we had together. The better times people have makes the falling out even harder. Right? But isn’t that what happened?

We had a ‘falling out.’

I always say we, but sometimes I don’t think it’s we. Sometimes I think it’s more you, because I wouldn’t ever want to participate in a ‘falling out’ with you.

Do you know me? Do you ever sit on a roof like this on a Sunday night, when it’s cold and you don’t have a jacket, when you have undone homework on your bed and you have missed calls on your phone, and remember? If so, what do you remember? Do you ever remember me?

I think sometimes I’m trapped in my own little cage, one that has a complicated red padlock on it and has thick bars keeping me in. If I had the right amount of strenght then believe me, I’d pry apart those stupid bars and I’d run after you.

I would.

But the problem is, I can’t. Even if I was the strongest guy in the world I would never, ever, be able to catch you. Because you would never, ever let me.

I don’t want to end up being someone else’s else.

I want to be your else.