In time, the hurt begin to fade and it was easier to just let go. At least I thought it was. But in every boy I met in the next few years, I found myself looking for you. I’d write you a letter. But I never sent them for fear of what I might find. By then, you’d gone on with your life and I didn’t want to think about you loving someone else. I wanted to remember us like we were that summer. I didn’t want to ever lose that.-The Notebook
