“I'm sorry I left you.”

“I really am.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“I didn't want to.”

“I'm sorry.”

I kept hearing these words over and over again.

From a long time ago.

Images filled my head vividly.

Only parts, blurry, then more and more clear.

A whole story that has already been told unraveled in my mind.

My life.

My orange-haired boy.

My everything.

It all made sense now.

I remember now.

How could I be this blind?

This familiar feeling.

I understand it now.

It was meant to be.

We were meant to be.

Tears rolled down my face as I was carried in his arms.

I didn't look.

I didn't dare to.

But I felt his touch.

I felt it before.

I could imagine his face.

And no one would ever know.

Only we would know the truth.

Our truth, our story, shared over years and years into the future and the past.