headchecks

I saw you in my “Recommended Friends” on Facebook. You grew a beard. I think it’s handsome. It suits you. I wonder if you still have a baby face underneath. Probably.

I still look the same since we last spoke. Maybe a little bit more tired, a little bit fatter, and I wear glasses now, you know. You’d recognize me if you saw me, I think.

My mouse hovers over “Add Friend” and I notice you’re wearing your college jersey in your picture.

You did work for it. Hell, you got an EliteProspects profile. Your team seems to be doing pretty well. Are you doing well? My skates are gathering dust, while you must have gone through a few pairs since then.

I still remember that assist on your slapshot goal. I wasn’t credited for it, of course. But the celly was nice. You did wrap your arm around me, briefly, and I called you “baby”

For a moment, I imagined we could have been like how you imagined back then, when you took me ice skating for the first time, and bought me shitty ice cream.

Did we really change that much? At what point did we become so different?

I can’t remember what it was and I can’t pull up the old messages (since you did block me) but I cried for the whole day and called in sick the next.

I was so hysterical, your mom texted my mom, very concerned.

We were both 18, I think.

I don’t understand why you said that. I’m still the same person you asked out. I’m just… a little less girly since then. A little less palatable for your white teeth. I wasn’t tender enough. Not soft enough.

It hurt. It did. I hated it so much. I still had to skate beside you. I wanted to show you I could move on.

But I couldn’t.

You were the one who told me I should play hockey in the first place. You were the one who encouraged me to sign up, even though I didn’t grow up with the sport.

I cried in the locker room instead and left practice early.

I stare at your profile picture for a little longer. You look happy. It’s been ten years since we met, about. Maybe five years since we became strangers again.

My cursor is still hovering over “Add Friend” and it’s one in the morning.

Your eyes are so fucking blue. The color burns on the back of my eyelids.

I shake my head and close my laptop instead.

I wish I could forget about you. I’ve written so many awful poems about you. You would hate them. You would think I’m a creep. Of course, I don’t like you anymore. Don’t worry about that. You broke my heart, after all.

But you did like me first.