And sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to slip up and say "I love you."
I was there on the first day of school-she cried for hours. (preschool)
I was there when we played with macaroni and string. (kindergarten)
I was there when she had her piano recital. (third grade)
I was there when she broke her arm-I signed her cast. (fifth grade)
I was there the first time we fought. She yelled. I never raised my voice once. (summer between sixth and seventh grade)
I was there the day she got her first crush-my heart snapped in two, listening to her talk about how she adored him so. (eighth grade)
I realized that I loved her. I always had. (eighth grade)
I was there when he broke her heart. She cried for hours on my shoulder. (end of ninth grade)
It was me who insinuated the first kiss; the feel of her lips upon mine was sheer bliss. (eleventh grade)
I remember it so perfectly; graduation day. Her smile was radiant, and her hair glowing. Her steps were smooth and graceful, and we shared a kiss afterwards.
But the hardest part came when she told me she was going to Harvard for college. Cloud nine was long gone, and I was way underneath. She kissed me, but it meant nothing.
I remember that fateful invitation, and then the phone call I received afterwards. She was getting married.
Days passed; months, years, decades. Not a moment went by that I didn't think of her.
Those three little words I should have said, those three little words that would have meant so much to her.
And sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to slip up and say "I love you."