Waiting

I was expecting a phone call or a letter from him. But that never happened. Maybe it was my fault for expecting too much, for breaking my own heart again, as had happened before.

We met when we were sixteen, the first time we meet we spent time watching some ducks on the lake, he played me something nice on his guitar, next time when I saw him, he played something with his voice as well. We spent all summer watching those stupid ducks. Then we went to the beach. I enjoyed watching the waves with him.

It was short, fast, and full of emotional fire. But it was gone in a flash. It was almost as if he hadn't been there at all. I went next year to the same place, his footsteps were gone.

Cried so much that I could never love the same. But maybe is for the better, people love too much, they burn in one second, burning souls with them as well.

I don’t think he actually loved me, but now is too late to find out. He can’t say much, at least, his gravestone does’ t says much to me.