You loved a boy once.
It was months, possibly years ago.
You don't exactly remember when, you don't remember a whole lot from your teenage years.
But you can remember every last detail of the boy.
His name was John.
John Egbert.
You were the closest of friends.
You loved him with all of you heart.
He had the darkest shade of ebony hair you could imagine, and it was always messy, which you were always okay with.
He was skinny, with stick-like limbs, and it was if if someone painted a rose-tint color on his cheeks, because it seemed he was almost always blushing around you.
His glasses were rectangular and bulky, and he was into pranks.
He hated cakes, and constantly reminded you when his birthday rolled around.
You always got him a cake though.
It was ironic.
And for some reason, he never saw any of the cakes coming.
And his eyes.
His eyes.
You can especially remember how deep of a blue they were.
You swore, those ocean orbs would be the death of you.
When you turned fourteen, you two fell in love.
The tension between you two became more awkward whenever you visited him.
And in fact, you visited him more often.
Everyday, you'd see him, no matter what had happened that day, and you two would just sit together.
Sometimes, none of you would talk at all.
Then one day you two had enough.
You both were sitting, and thought 'fuck it, I like him. I'm holding his hand.'
And did just that.
Your relationship escalated from there, over the next few years.
Soon you had told your friends, which you can't seem to remember their names or recognize their faces.
You two started holding hands.
Kissing.
Your first kiss was by far the worst kiss ever, you call to mind.
For many years of your life, you had expected that you would be some sort of kiss master, though you had never kissed a soul.
And the ending point to that theory was about five seconds away from the kiss.
You were at his house, watching a movie of his choice with him.
The movie sure did suck, but you loved watching it with him.
Besides, it gave you more time to stare at your beautiful boyfriend.
He must have aught you, because as soon as his favorite part of the movie came on, and that damn song played, her turned to you.
His head tilted all slow-like, and you jittered around, unsure what to do.
You just shut your eyes and waited.
Bonk.
His cute little buck teeth clashed into your lips, and you both nervously laughed it off.
Then came cuddling.
Soon, when you turned seventeen, it got to the step in the relationship where you both felt comfortable with sex.
Both of you had watched so many videos and had done so much research on the topic, but none of that helped whatsoever.
You wouldn't say it was uncomfortable at all.
It was slow, and passionate, and you two kept loving eye-contact the whole time.
It was beautiful, and the soft smile he gave you afterward made your heart skip a beat.
But then.
You can't remember what, but something, or someone, had decided that you two were too happy together and that your relationship needed a bit more..hurt.
John was stabbed.
He was stabbed in these dorky blue pajamas, and you weren't able to save him.
You remember watching John die, him telling you he would see you again, and he made you promise not to cry.
You remember breaking his promise.
And...you never saw him again.
Your love story was over, the end.
You wish you could piece those pieces back together, find out exactly what his cause of death was, who those other people were, everything.
But you can't.
You've tried hard.
And every time you end up stopping to cry.
Because of him.
And every time you do, you feel a shoulder pat.
And every damn time, you pretend it's just the wind.
But in reality, you know it's just the boy of wind.
Your boy of wind.
