You used to be right there next to me.
We would get in the car on a summer day, top-down, and drive to nowhere, with no destination in mind. At each red light, I would glance over at you, and you would always be smiling back at me. You had a way of tilting your head ever so slightly to the right when you smiled at me. I doubt you even realized you were doing it. But I noticed that you only did it when you smiled at me, no one else, and that’s how I knew it was a smile meant only for me, no one else.
You used to be right there next to me.
Down the street, we would walk, no destination in mind. Happy as could be your hand in mine. We laughed at each other’s corny jokes and talked for what seemed like hours. Every chance I got, I glanced at you and were captured by your eyes. Your eyes always had a way of lighting up when you looked at me. I would laugh and tell you that you weren’t playing fair, and you would always say you didn’t know what I was talking about. Maybe you didn’t; perhaps that’s because your eyes only lit up when you looked at me, and that’s how I knew it was a look meant for me, no one else.
Now you’re not there next to me anymore.
The smile and the look meant for me; no one else is gone. I wonder if they belong to someone else. I wonder if you even know that you’re giving him a smile and a look that tells him you love him and no one else.
You used to be right there next to me.