Forever Lost
You were looking a little lost that day. I remember it well: you were sitting by the pool, gazing into the water, with the sun setting to your back. Like it could not bear to see you this uncertain, it sank without warning, painting the sky orange.
Your eyes were downcast, your lips pulled between your teeth and you were so preoccupied with your churning thoughts that you didn’t hear me approach. And when your eyes met mine, your face fell. Like you’d set out on a quest not really knowing what to expect and life somehow still managed to surprise you, you just couldn’t tell if it was in a good or a bad way.
I‘m ashamed to say that I thought it suited you well. That this piece of information about you fit into a box with all the other puzzle pieces I‘d put together so far. It was unfair of me. I never wanted you to be lost or was happy that you were. I just thought that it would’ve been unusual if it had been any other way. That you wouldn’t have been the person I’d grown to like if you’d known where to go next.
I sat down next to you, careful not to let our knees brush, not to let our shoulders touch, and dipped my feet into the cold water. You didn’t look at me. I remember wishing that you had.
“Is it getting worse again?” I asked, watching you swing your legs back and forth, sending the water rippling. You didn’t stop to think, to consider your answer.
“No,” you said, and I knew that you were lying. Like all of us, you had your good days and your bad days, and those in between that no matter how successful they were still felt like loss and failure to you.
“What is it then?”
You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest. The water was even colder without your legs swinging next to mine.
“It’s just like everyone has their lives figured out. Everyone has some kind of… plan, at least. I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time. I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, or in a week, or in a month. I don’t know who I’ll be.”
“Not everyone has their shit figured out, you know,” I replied, intently staring at the water. Seeing you like this hurt, but it was difficult to think of something that would make you feel better. “I have this… vague idea where I want to go, but I’m not sure.”
When the silence became painful, a thing that had claws and teeth, I added, “where do you see yourself in five years? Maybe that’s a good start. I regretted it instantly.
You didn’t say anything for a while and just when I thought you weren't going to reply at all, you spoke. I couldn’t tell if you'd turned your answer over too long to be the truth or too long for it to be a lie.
“Somewhere.” Disappointment curled in my chest and settled in the pit of my stomach, cold and heavy.
“Anywhere. I don’t know. Just somewhere I’m happy. Somewhere I’m comfortable, you know?” The wind picked up around us and I pulled my shaking legs from the water.
“I guess,” I mumbled, but the words sounded hollow, even to my own ears. I couldn’t believe I had gotten it all wrong. That I’d gotten you so wrong.
There was that tiny part of me that had hoped the answer to my question would be: “With you. No matter where I‘ll be in five years, I see you by my side.“ Because it’s what I would’ve said. But looking back, I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I guess in a sick, twisted way, you were always supposed to be a lost boy and I was not supposed to be the one to find you.
