While you’re off with your new girlfriend — the ditzy stoner, fresh out of high school — I hope memories of me hit you as fast as the train that always seemed to come by each time we were on our way to my apartment, but we didn’t mind because it gave us a chance to make out. I hope you remember that it was me who held you in my arms on the days where all you wanted was to be dead to the world. I hope you remember time we argued in the grocery store over whether we should make cupcakes or a cake that night and we didn’t care that people were staring at us, because we couldn’t stop laughing. I hope you remember that I was the one who sat through those poorly made horror movies with you just to make you smile, and that I was the one who listened to you rant on about how much of an asshole your dad is. I hope you remember that I was the one who convinced you to quit smoking cigarettes and pot all those years ago, and that I was the one who accepted your dumb apologies after a bad fight. I hope you remember that it was always me. You know it was. I hope you remember that it was always you, too. I hope you remember that I loved all of you, even when it was exhausting.
I hope you remember me when you’re 40, sitting on the couch with a woman that you’ve grown to resent because even though you did everything you were supposed to do — get married, have a few kids — she never made you feel the way I did the night we ran across the field in the pouring rain to your car and found an excuse to fog up the windows.
I know you’ll remember me. I know you’ll remember me when you find that the ache in your lower back that wasn’t there before is nothing compared to the pain in your heart when you wake up in the morning and roll over, only to open your eyes to a face that isn’t mine, and you ask yourself “What have I done?”"