In my seventeen years of being alive, I’ve been in love with many things. I’m in love with the way the sky looks when the sun is setting, and how there’s a golden-orange tint on everything. I’m in love with places. From cathedrals in Italy, to castles in Ireland. I’m in love with music. The kind that makes you feel real emotion. I’m in love with all the stars in the sky when i look at them from my porch at midnight. And most of all, I’m in love with you.

You’re the boy, who’s gentle. Who sees the good in everything no matter the situation. Who talks to me about life. Who i trust with my whole heart, to tell absolutely everything to. I never thought I’d find someone like you. With the type of grace and love for things you have. 

I sometimes see you and think “This is it. I’ve found my other half.” 

Everything i feel i need in my life, you have. 

I have no doubt that you’d agree with me if i told you we are a lot alike; but we are also very different. 

For example, the way i love you, is not the same way you love me. I don’t think it will ever be. 

You’re my best friend, my other half, but you tell me about other girls. Specifically one girl. I still don’t know her name, but you can’t seem to go longer than five minutes without mentioning her. And every time you do, a lump forms in my throat, and i know i can’t talk because if i do I’ll say something i didn’t want you to know. 

So i stay quiet. I hold my breath. Until you make me breathe again.

   I live in the small city of Goldsboro, North Carolina, with my mom and two younger brothers. It’s not actually small, but it’s small compared to where we used to live.

We moved here from Santa Clarita, California, when my mom and dad got divorced. This is where she grew up.

I go to school here, and i have friends here, but i didn’t really feel like this was my home until I’d been here for a couple of years. I’ve now been here for five. 

I have a best friend. His name is Isaiah. He’s one month older than i am. His birthday being january first, and mine being December first. He drives me to school everyday, because i have yet to get my license, so every morning we sing along to 90’s rock in his classic convertible. He loves things that are vintage, and I’ve never seen him be anything but kind to anyone. 

He picks me up every morning at exactly 8:02. This morning though, he was running a little late. 

The only time he’s ever been late picking me up, he as gotten into an accident a few blocks down. A car ran a red light, totaling his white Subaru, which i had called Betsy. Now he drives his grandpas car from the 70’s, and when he’s late i worry. 

I picked up my phone to call him, but saw him pull up in the driveway before i got the chance to dial his number. 

I grabbed my bag and hurried outside to the car. 

“ hey Veronica!” He smiled. 

   “Hey Isaiah. How was the appointment?” I asked, stepping into the vehicle. 

“It was alright. Everything’s normal.” He had had a doctors appointment this morning, which i guess ran a little later than expected. I assumed it was his call back after having the flu last week. 

He complimented my vintage Levi jeans as we drove, and as always, played 90’s rock. 

We pulled up to the school, bags in hand, and went our separate ways to get breakfast, only to meet at our usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. Every morning had been like this. Me with my iced coffee and muffin, him with his orange juice and omlette. It was peaceful. 

This was going to be our year. Well, our senior year at least. In just ten short months, we’d be enjoying our last summer before the chaos of college began. I enjoy the little moments like this, sitting and eating breakfast together, because i know that we don’t have many more breakfasts together before we both go off to live our lives. 

“Are you gonna finish that?” Isaiah pulled me out of my thoughts, pointing to the half eaten muffin on my plate. 

“No you can have it.” I smiled. He gave me a quick grin before grabbing it off of my plate. 

Isaiah and i ate alone. We were kind of the outcasts, even though everyone claimed they liked us. We only hung out with each other. 

“Did you get your ACT scores back?” He had asked. 

“Yeah. I got them a couple days ago in the mail. I got a thirty. What about you?” I responded. I had always been smart. My mother said i could be a world renouned surgeon by the time I’m thirty. I always just agreed with her, and never told her that my true passion was writing. I could write for hours. It’s not that she wouldn’t accept it, it’s that i don’t want to let my family down. 

“I got a twenty two.” He said calmly. Short conversations like this didn’t matter much, but they passed the time sufficiently. 

The bell rang, and we were on our way to class.