We were kids.
I am getting the feeling that I would say that one day.
Defense mechanism, I think, I could develop.
It is in the back of my mind.
It would be a shame to say, I know.
I would degrade all my relationships into something so small, so inconvenient, so… young, that it would mean nothing at all.

We were kids.
And I did not know what I was doing.

We were kids.
And I wasn’t supposed to fall in love at that age, and maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe I was merely confused, driven by trends, and friends, and hormones, and the idea of falling in love.
Maybe I was teaching myself, trying to make ourselves believe - both you and I - that we were in love, that this is love, in one way or another; but perhaps, in all ways, we just were not.

We were kids.
And now I’ve grown into something far more beautiful than being young.

I am in this place now, where nothing is wrong, and if there is, it is not about you anymore.
I am in this place now, where things are not as big as they seem, so when they topple all over me, I get hurt but do not cry anymore.
I am in this place now, where youth is vintage, forgetting is easy.
I am in this place now, beyond somewhere I could have imagined when I was daydreaming at fifteen - inside a classroom, passing notes in Math class.
I am in this place now, where I could say that it was foolish and exhilarating and beautiful.

We were kids. We were just kids.
(I made myself believe that.)