As Lovers Go

   Last night I (very!) unexpectedly heard from an ex; the last on my list of favorite first kisses, which was maybe the most perfect first kiss I've ever had. I guess now he needs a name; I'll call him Dear Sergio.
  We met and walked through the streets of our silent little town, eventually settling on opposite benches in the park, catching up and reminiscing simultaneously.
   "Remember when we just walked up to those random kids and lay down next to them over there," I asked, pointing to a large cement circle that serves as a fountain in the summer months.
   "Yeah, that was... Why did we do that?" he asked, and we both laughed.
   "Remember when you used to break into my car during soccer practice and take pictures of yourself wearing my clothes and send them to me?" he asked, smirking.
   "Yeah, that was awesome." 
   "No wonder I had to start locking my doors," he said, laughing, and then added "Actually, I still don't."
   I immediately began plans to sneak back into his little red car and do it all over again, before remembering he's dating someone else. They got together three days after we broke up, almost two years ago. Ouch, right?  But I understood. I was shady and scared and secretive. We were young. I was leaving for school, moving 500 miles away at the end of the summer. Our relationship was as temperamental as the constant thunderstorms we had that summer; furious, fleeting, recurring. We spent hours in each others' arms, watching them, quietly absorbing our beautiful reflection. Until he found someone who would hold his hand in front of people. Someone willing to change her relationship status on facebook. Someone who could fall in love with him. Who did.
   "A lot of crazy stuff has happened in this place," he said, motioning around us.
   "Yeah... I think I threw up on you here somewhere," I admitted.  He laughed with his typical good nature, and pointed out the place where it had happened. (I've never understood how he had any interest in dating me after that, but he did. His libido's a champ, I guess.)
   "It all seems like it just happened, but it was so long ago. Years." Neither of us could comprehend how much time had passed.
   The time we spent on the benches stretched as slowly and sweetly as the years we'd spent together, and our subsequent years apart. We reveled in each others' company, in how easy and comfortable it still is. When we finally got too cold to ignore, he walked me home and hugged me goodnight, holding me a little too long, needing to decimate the distance silence and apartness had created.
   Lying in beds just blocks apart, we texted back and forth, him trying to admit to missing me as nonchalantly as possible. I sidestepped the issue repeatedly, not interested in making him a cheater. I've already done that. He has no impulse control and my ego is boundless. Those factors compounded with our mutual possessiveness is dangerous. It hardly occurs to us that we're wrong. Until the sun rises. And I'm sick of waking up guilty.
   I still did, this morning. I stayed in bed until noon, closing my eyes tightly to the sun's rays that peeked through my window, reminding me of the sins I've committed. For the record, we stayed in our own beds and just said goodnight. But I can't shake the guiltiness. 
   We've promised each other countless times; no matter what happens between us, we will always love each other. Because we were so blissful, so young, so volatile. And all our angst and frustration dissipated in our laughter and drawn-out embraces, our agonizing delusions. And we might. There will always be a deep current of affection and appreciation between us, I think; I hope.
   The dichotomy of night & day is hard to reconcile. The streets look so different without the sun, illuminated only by the moon and occasional streetlight. Traditionally, the night is filled with sin, but I still feel that teenage innocence under the stars.
   I'm happy for last night; the last time I saw him, it ended bitter and ugly, in heartbreak. This was sweeter. And, though I promised him the next thunderstorm, I think that's one I'm going to break. I'm not seventeen anymore, and at some point, I need to accept that he isn't mine, and hasn't been since I was. I think I'm ready to.