Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Last time I saw you, you gave me four hugs of goodbye and each time I didn't want it to end. It did anyways, sooner than I expected. That day I took a picture with you, the very last one.

    I write this without any particular reason. I have no idea of how I ended up here, crying, writing through the blurry tears and thinking of you... I miss you, I guess that's why.
    I never told you that but you were the only one who looked at me diferently. Not in any special way, but you saw me as an equal and not as an inferior like everybody else did - I was just the lonely and shy girl in the corner. In this five years we've know each other, even being shallow as it was, it was real. My feelings for you are not any less real because of the distance, but anyway you're not aware of them. At least not by any word that has left my mouth.

    I can almost touch the memories passing through my head. The way you wore all the time the shirt I got you for Secret Santa; the day that the whole class run out of the classroom to see the footbol game on the teacher's tv and you were the last one and without a chair, you sat on my lap; and even though I tried to be left outside the social part of the class, you always brought me back in; the 'pokerface' you used to draw on the white board every party our class threw; my chicken pie that you loved; and also, you hugged four times goodbye.

    Now I look your pictures, wishing I was there in the middle of 'the gang', wishing I had a second chance. Wishing you knew. Regretting everything. Crying.

    When did everything become so messy?

    [Dedicated to my friend, G. Thank you. You made my mornings brighter without even knowing it.]
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.