It’s been almost two years since the last time he touched me. It was this horrible experience on the couch in the apartment above the bar where we first met. So unloving, thrusting with no intention to care. Our initial connection was magnetic, although it was not love on his side, it was a feeling. I believe he hates me now, but I think about him every day, some days more than others. Sometimes I feel the memories of him slipping away, but then I imagine us holding each other in the dive’s vestibule on my 21st birthday as he whispered apologies in the form of birthday hellos in my ear, that first kiss, a peck, when he admitted I was “really winning him over”, and sitting on the stairs, not touching but close enough to feel each other breathe. I miss him a lot, the conversation more than anything. He’s a good person and even though I’ve said some unforgivable things about him I hope he is doing good for himself and has found love somewhere.