and yet

Looking back, I wish I would have realized it sooner. I was so focused on things that weren't you, that by the time I saw you--really saw you--it was too late.

It was the last day of class, and as eager as I was to be done with it, I realized it was the last time I'd see you. I hated that class, and so did you, but I had the urge to tell you that I'd miss you. Not the class. Just you.

But I couldn't say that. Right?

There wasn't really any reason, but I knew so much and little about you. I knew you had a ton of siblings, that you were excited (and nervous) to see your first concert, that you liked sushi and puns and making people laugh. That you were kind and smiled easily and were unafraid to speak up when you needed to.

It was the last day of class, and, as was our established ritual, I packed up my bag in time with you so that we could exit together. The first day you waited for me I was too surprised to think it could mean anything, but now I wonder about it.

This day, I waited for you. You looked at me, knowing, and smiled. You thanked our professor like a proper gentleman, and I followed. It was something I never would have done otherwise, but it felt good.

It also felt good to match my stride to yours, to walk out and laugh like we were lifelong friends. Like this would last.

Of course, it couldn't.

I didn't even realize how late our class had gone, or that I was going to be late to my next one. All I knew was that it was the last time we would walk together.

I held back the words. I'll miss you.

You were graduating: a real, tangible goodbye. But, I felt that our three hours a week did not qualify me to request to be a part of your life. I was a class friend.

That was all.

And yet.

I still wonder. Had I asked, had I ventured to get to know you... would you have taken me up on the offer?

You were so electric, so real, so unabashedly you that I always thought that it must feel like this for everyone around you. You were friendly. It didn't make me special that you spent time with me.

I am no one.

And yet.

I can close my eyes, picture your lanky frame, those bright eyes, that flop of hair. You made me laugh every time I saw you.

If only my brain were a little less fuzzy, I would've seen it sooner.

Because on that dreaded last walk, it could have been different. Instead of scuffing the ground, sending leaves scattering, maybe I should've been staring into those brown eyes, soaking up the last I'd see of you.

Maybe I should have been later to my next class's presentation; who would have cared--I was taking it pass-fail.

Maybe I should have told you that I was going to miss you. That you made me happy, made me laugh.

Maybe I should have quelled my questions and squashed my fears.

Maybe I should have kissed you.

Maybe you would have kissed me back.

I wonder sometimes if it looked different from your perspective. Or if it was always an impossibility.