If anything, tell him that I loved him. Tell him that he meant the world to me, no matter how horribly any tainted light was cast upon him because in my eyes, he would always be the shiniest and most beautiful of all. Tell him that I never forgot those eyes that burned my soul the way the end of a careless cigarette pricks an unsuspecting hand. Alarming. Anger-infusing. Whimsical enough to be let off the hook. Tell him that I shone my best when I was his, trying to be his, hoping to be his. Hoping that I could become enough for him. Hoping he'd burn enough cigarette-holes into my soul that I'd fit the mold he'd fashioned with his own hands. Tell him that I remember the day when I didn't want to leave him but I had to, and we both went our separate ways but I walked all the way down Palm Drive alone while he did what was best for him and found his future. He held me for a long time and told me I was so cool and fun before I left, but his eyes gave away much much more than that. Tell him that I remember the last day I saw him, when my heart was so content and full of his loving emotions that I forgot I wouldn't see him for a long long long while and he got on the morning train and I rode alone in the backseat of Haley's car. We held hands before we parted ways, and it was the first time my small hand fit nicely in a larger one and I liked that. Tell him that somehow, that morning and only that morning because I forgot what it felt like after that day, I knew knew knew KNEW that no matter how many holes he burned into my soul, he would never sculpt me in the fashion of his mold. He couldn't. I was the mold. Tell him that.
