There was still so much about each other that we'd never know or tell.
Simple things.
Complex things.
Random things.
I'd never know where the scars on his forehead were from.
I'd never understand his philosophy of 12.
I'd never know any childhood stories.

He'd never know that I had a lisp until I was 4.
He'd never know that I couldn't dance.
He'd never know that I thought about him dabbing beer off of my forehead.
He'd never know that I cried in class because I'd never tell him how I still got butterflies every time the thought entered my mind.

I'd never tell him the fact on the next Snapple I drank.
I'd never tell him how I was convinced I'd fallen in love in a matter of days.
I'd never tell him that I saved the pack of gum I carried on the night we met.

And I'd never know what he'd never tell me.