When Growing Up Meant Growing Apart

I stayed for you. Why weren't you able to stay for me, too?
by Danie B.   |  Sep 20, 2017
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I stayed for you. Why weren't you able to stay for me, too?

I stared at your glasses as you placed them on the table to wipe your eyes. We were sitting side by side on a garden set facing a soccer field. I had the urge to take your glasses, hold them in the air, and tell you that you can't leave—not without your glasses. That sounded so immature, I know. But you did that to me once, remember?

We were both twelve then—strangers who sat side by side on the bleachers while watching our school's intramurals. You were introduced to me by a friend and you didn’t stop talking from then on. You were awfully enthusiastic for a person I just met—throwing jokes and telling stories I didn't care about. When it was finally time for me to go, you took my oversized glasses from me, held them, and didn't allow me to leave. So I stayed. Little did I know that deciding to stay that July afternoon would make me stay until the very end.


Seven years later, here we are, sitting side by side again. Instead of your loud stories and excited laughter, I listened to your silence—OUR silence. I wanted to take your glasses so badly like you did the first time we met. Maybe if I did, you wouldn't leave, like the way I did before. But I didn't do anything. I stared as you placed your glasses back on your eyes. I stared at your face as we continuously sat in silence. I stared until it was time for you to go.

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I stayed for you. Why weren't you able to stay for me, too?

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