I never really met you.

Sure, I saw pictures. Pictures and videos- we talked through Skype all the time, and my heart fluttered when watching a smile light your face up through the webcam.  Your blue eyes were large and looked like circles of sky, and your lips were full and soft-looking.

You said you had fat wrists.

You didn't.

Somewhere in the three years of constant contact, you know, I fell in love. We handed each other all of our secrets, our dreams and fears. And I fell more in love with you each day. Eventually, the words tumbled out of my mouth.

You said it made you happy. You wanted to be loved, I made you happy. But you didn't want to let yourself feel anything that deep. You said you were afraid. Afraid of your flaws, afraid you'd become your father. Afraid.

I loved you anyways.

You left. You said you needed to go on with your life and you needed to change. You said you couldn't be attached to me anymore, you said the feelings I caused were ruining you.

You came months later calling me love again, and I answered. But you confessed nothing could ever be like it was.

I was ecstatic to have you back, until I realized you were right. Nothing was the same. You were closed off, an icicle. You were not the boy I remembered, and your sky eyes became more like snow. I swear, they even looked paler.

The boy I fell in love with was dead. He's just a shell of himself that *I don't know how to fix.