Part of me wanted to scream, to see how far I could reach before the sun rises again. Gazing out the bedroom window, I wondered whether she was asleep or not. Obviously, I am talking about that minuscule square apartment, second floor. Was I innocent? "yes?", if I said this I would be lying to myself. I wasn't innocent entirely, but let's not judge me by the post-haste actions, for neglecting the journey.

I still pass by the streets, apartments, restaurants, and parks, all a part of this story. Somehow, my story is their story too, 'cause it was something that all the people around me knew. And, while these spots are no longer same, can still stop me dead in my tracks. I think to myself, "what happened here?" totally not practical, somewhat self-centered. I can't acknowledge that place, it moved on.

Without me.

When I was 17, my life changed forever.

I know there are people who wonder about me when I say this. They look at me strangely trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to explain. Because I have lived here most of my life, I don't feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, that would take more time than most people are willing to give me. When I say this it feels kind of weird, but some part of me knew that there's always been a space for her in my heart. My story, yes the story which I can't summon up in two or three sentences, it can't be packaged into something shiny or neat and simple that people would immediately understand. Indeed in the road of years, the people living here knew us from the very beginning.

I am 47 years old, but this story will always remain in those places, as if it's stuck in that time. It feels quite strange when I remember them 'cause they come with sadness and joy. Sometimes, I chuckle about the things we used to do, and wish I could go back, but that isn't possible!! is it? Bringing them back to life feels good, but then the saddest part comes and all I could think is "can I turn back time and make it alright?" but then I get this feeling, if I did, what if, it took the joy too. So, all I do is accept, when they come.The memories are still vivid. Others are best left alone, fade over time. It is march 27, yes the day it all happened!! I came to this town again and again on this day every year just to take a glance.

"what about her? do she still remember? or it is just me waiting or wanting to see her...atleast as a 'friend!' "

As I continue to stare that minuscule square apartment, I can see myself getting younger and younger, the plants, trees, building everything started to change, this small town changed too.

I started walking down that street, with hands in my pocket, perfectly combed slightly brownish hair with my black eyes.

I am Landon. Landon Miller, 15 years old. This is my story, I promise not to leave anything out.