Your here again, sitting, legs dangling over the edge of the pier. Somehow you’ve managed to stay sober tonight. She’s here next to you, not her, but a friend, a good friend. In some way you’ve grown closer to her.

How? You wonder.

Two months have passed since the night you spoke about her. Did those three sentences pull you closer to the girl next to you? You don’t know, and you don’t care. All that matters now is being here, in this moment.

In your head you laugh at your previous statement; you laugh at your mind for thinking being in the now is all that matters because your barely ever here, you don’t live in the now.

Living in the past is so much better, and no, not just because of her. Lots of great things are in your past.

When you were a child things were great, nearly perfect.

You lived in a house, a big house. So big you’d sometimes find yourself wandering around during the night in confusion. You could never remember which staircase led to the kitchen.

During your early years you kept the attention of your parents so easily. Then something happened, your brother happened. You were nine years old at the time; you faded into the back round so easily.

But somewhere during that exchange between Jr. High and High School that changed. It was weird, unexpected, but suddenly Mom started to notice you again. Why? You have no idea. You think it’s because Trent, your brother, was Daddy’s little boy.

Always together, the two of them. Leaving you and your mother in that oversized house. It started sometime during your sophomore year in High School, she’d come sit with you. She’d talk to you about motherly things.

You don’t remember a lot of what she said to you. You were young and not a lot stuck with you, everything was in one ear and out the other. You regret not paying close attention, but you do remember one conversation you had with her.