Dear Conner

Sometimes I think about the possibilities. If I had told you would things be different? Is it selfish of me to rush up every time the wood floor creaks, expecting you there, I look every time. I wonder, could we have been more than what was to be, more than just an experience we both look back on? Life goes on and feelings pass, but are you still the man who holds my memories? The ones you lived them with me, by my side..