I'd always loved the way your black hair touched the tip of your ears so barely,
and you'd brush it out of those big brown eyes that sparkled in the sun.
You may not have had the smile of a model,
but it was my favorite sight that I could think of.
And the way you touched me, not even provocatively,
but the way our fingers intertwined,
the way you'd put your hands on my face
or the back of my neck
when we kissed.
Oh my, you kissed like it was the only thing keeping you to this earth;
so addicting,
so refreshing;
so eager
yet so patient.
And maybe the thing I loved the most
was the way you would let me call you
Nickolas.

But that summer we spent was frozen over
and buried by the lovers you've had in your bed
since our times.
Drugs and *** became your passion,
while mine became crying in my room,
and burning my skin.
You shaved off your hair, your eyes are so dull.
She traces lines on your body that I once drew.
But I see the way you kiss her and it's not the same,
I remember the way you looked at me
the last time we talked.
The way you hugged me when I was on the verge of breaking down,
in the middle of the cafeteria.
Maybe our time together was not in vain,
maybe we'll be together,
in another life.
But then again I could be wrong, for when I called you Nickolas;
you flatly replied,
"It's Nick."

I remember that fall,
I was seven years old,
you were 6 feet tall
and I hugged your legs.
The leaves were changed
but we stayed the same,
you may have aged
but we were both young at heart.

I remember that fall,
I was twelve years old,
you were still so tall,
and now I hugged your waist.
We sat by the fire, like every other year,
you told me a scary story,
the first and last I'd ever hear
in your deep, soothing voice.

I remember that fall,
I was fourteen years old.
You were just as tall,
but so, so thin.
There was not a hair on your head,
instead a tumor resting in there.
You smiled but you wished you were dead,
and you couldn't enjoy the season with me.

I remember that fall,
I was sixteen years old.
You're not here at all,
and I am not okay.
It's nearly two years,
everyone else enjoys their days;
but I still shed the most tears.
Fall is no longer a place for laughter;
only horrific memories.

It's summer now,
I'm eighteen years old
and nothing's how it was at all.
You'd be so proud of me.
I've made new friends,
I'm working now and I'm happy.
She is too, I know you're wondering.
I still miss you every day,
but at least time has taught me
how to continue on this way.