I’d tell them about the very first night, the night we met. Moonlit faces and too much alcohol in our veins.
I’d tell them how I never thought I’d see you again, but I did.
And how easily you became a part of my routine. Sneaking out of my window, bottles of vodka in your backpack.
I’d tell them about the first date, in a café on a Wednesday night.
I’d tell them about the second, and the third.
I’d tell them about our first kiss in the rain, and the last, in a cab, right before the goodbye.
I’d tell them about the hand-written letter in a bottle.
What I’d never tell them is, I broke down on the way to the airport, and as the plane took off.
I’d never tell them that something so beautiful turned so ugly, and how much it messed me up.
I’d never tell them how nonchalant you were, while I blamed myself for feeling too deeply.
I could swear I was in love with you, but I’d never tell you.
But baby, we’d make a great story to tell someday.