Short Story: I Want to Tell You

         Do you know those brilliant flashes of a single moment when everything you’ve ever seen, everything you’ve ever heard up to a certain point comes together in a sparkling realization?

         I’ve just had one.

         I realized there’s something I need to tell you. We met a long time ago and since then a lot has changed. You and I for instance. And I miss you.

         I want to see you again and tell you that every morning when I wake up, I dance like crazy and greet the sun. I want to tell you I like fluffy clouds and the smell of warm bread. I want to tell you that every time I hear a coin fall on the floor my heart clutches because I remember about the people who don’t even have that little. I want to tell you I like people with green eyes and dark hair. I want to tell you that when I’m sad, I hide in my wardrobe and listen to Elton John. And I cry.

I want to tell you that a smile matters, and I want to tell you that you matter too. I want to write your autobiography, and I want you to write mine, so we can see what it is like to be in each other’s shoes. And I want to say ‘Hi’ to you again.

I want to tell you that every night while I’m brushing my teeth and staring at the mirror, I retell this small speech to my reflection and imagine how I meet you.

         And I want to tell you that even if I do see you again, I’ll never say any of the things above.

         I want to tell you them because I’ve changed, but I won’t, ‘cause so have you. We belong to each other’s past, but to someone else’s present, to someone else’s future. And that’s the way it has to be.

         But there is one more thing I want to tell you, and even the mirror doesn’t know about it. It’s just one more thing you’ll never hear me saying.

         I love you.