i went back to the place we first met so many years ago
and stood on the bright-black staircase
surrounded by crumbling red brick
and thought of you.

i thought of how when i met you, you didn't have a single tattoo yet;
we were both twelve.
i thought of the time you told me you loved me, stammering in the dark by the old van
when you kissed my shoulder and i laughed
when you tried to put your arm around me in a stiff, respectful, chivalrous sort of way
don't worry - i didn't think you were awkward at all.

you always said you'd get a tattoo of my name
which i thought was so stupid, but was secretly so flattered
and now i'm just so curious
but too afraid to ask.

did you forget me?
i've never forgotten you.