Author's note:

Through out my life, I've admired many people. One of them is Taylor Swift. I never understood how she could write such relatable, but personal songs. I tried opening up with my song writing, but I never could. I always had to use metaphors and such. I could never bring myself to use names and personal details like Taylor does. However, there is one place I can open up: writing stories. Every story I write is auto-biographical, in a sense. Every story carries a piece of life. This story is no different. This story is about someone I love, someone I hate, and someone who I never thought would end up being my best friend. It's about the words I said, the words I didn't say, and the actions I wish I could take. It's about recieving something most people never get: a second chance.


"Real life is a funny thing, you know. In real life, saying the right thing at the right moment is beyond crucial. So crucial, in fact, that most of us start to hesitate, for fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. But lately what I've begun to fear even more than that is letting the moment pass, without saying anything." -Taylor Swift

Perhaps, I should have seen it coming. Usually, I would have this gut feeling that something bad was coming. But this time – I didn't feel anything. Maybe it was just my heart begging my mind to tell me everything was going to be okay. Maybe my faith got in the way of my intuition.

He didn't talk to me for four days – that should have been my first clue. You see, we've talked everyday since the day we met. But over the last few months, things had changed. He joined his school's swim team. Practice was everyday. He was always tired – always busy. Sometimes, he didn't talk to me for the whole day. So, I thought he was just busy. I thought he wanted to talk to me, but he was tired or irritable. I thought wrong.

The worst part is that he didn't even have to courage to tell me to my face. He told my best friend, instead. No, actually, she forced him to tell her.

"Stephanie." She said to me over phone. I knelt down in front of my closet doors; I had a feeling that after hearing what she was going to say, standing would be impossible.

"Yes?" I whispered. I could hear people in the background; she must have been on the bus.

"Listen, I really would rather tell you this in person."

"No." I said sharply. There was no way I could wait until she got home from school. I needed to know now. "Just tell me."

There was a long pause. "Okay…" she said hesitantly. "Steph, he's breaking up with you." I felt cold.

"Why?" I croaked.

"He wouldn't tell me."

"Oh." I breathed.

"I'm sorry." She said sadly.

"It's fine." I lied. "I'll talk to you later." I hung up the phone and sat it down on the floor. I stared blankly at the wall in front of me. I wanted to cry – so badly. But my whole body was drained of emotion.

The desire to pick up my phone and dial his number overwhelmed me. Not that he would answer, of course. He would be at swim. Still, I needed something – anything to remind me of the man who promised to never do this to me. Yet, somehow I had a funny feeling that I had lost that man a long time ago.

Visions of our year together danced through my mind, taunting me. Everything we ever told each other echoed in my ears ever so loudly. This didn't make sense. I wanted to text him and ask him why he was doing this. I wanted to try and get him back. I wanted so badly to run to him and hug him tightly. I wanted to do all these things, but I didn't.

The weeks passed by slowly. I kept waiting for that 'good morning, I love you' text message, but it ever came. One day, I decided to officially get rid of everything that reminded me of him. I gathered up everything he ever gave me, from his blue checkered shirt to the blue heart shaped necklace he gave to me for my birthday, and threw it all in a big brown bag. I drove up to his mom's house and left the bag on the porch. As I drove away, I wanted to look back. I wanted park my car, run up the porch steps and knock on the door, hoping he would be there. I wanted to slap him for hurting me. I wanted to scream and yell and cry. But I didn't. I didn't do anything at all.