He won't tell you he loves you. He will not look at you like you're the universe or the sun or even the smallest star in the sky. He will not show up at your doorstep at two a.m. and he won't give up his seat for you and he won't make you mix tapes. But he will stay up talking to you, making you laugh and sigh when you're almost falling asleep. He will be thousands of miles away, but whenever you feel like your lungs are filling up with smoke and you forget how to breathe and your hands get sweaty, you'll think of him and feel okay again. You'll write poems about him that he will never read and he'll listen to your favorite band and tell you how much he hates their music. He'll show you new songs to listen to and you'll love all of them. A baby bird will die in your hands and you'll never stop thinking about it. This is how he will leave you. Two years later you'll still love him even when you're no longer lonely. You'll dream about his eyes and you'll find it hard to understand how he left before he was ever really yours to hold. You'll be okay without him but you won't be happy, and that little bird won't ever leave your mind. He'll never leave your mind. He probably won't think of you because he has someone new he can hold. Someone with brighter eyes and a wider smile and whenever she asks about you, he'll smile but he will only say, "all I remember is how much she loved this really ****** band."