I would give everything just to hold your hand one last time, sweaty and pants stained by the grass and the ground, slumped against sacks of dirt, tired and blindfolded, possibly looking like the most idiotic pair.
Hypothetically, I would never ever let go.
Hypothetically, things would turn out extremely different than they did.
Hypothetically, something has to happen to someone, somehow.
Hypothetically, I would give everything just to hold your hand one last time, whatever that last time was, whenever it was.
We go back to step 1.
No matter how many hypothetical moments with you I will make up in my mind, there will always be that final hypothetical moment, that final hypothetical moment that I will want to relive.
Like the time I met you.
Or the time you held my hand.
Or the time we talked about how you weren’t not allowed to wear sleeveless tops to Chem lab.
Or the last time I ever talked to you.
The thing is, no matter how many hypothetical moments I create, there is already a definite final moment. So the only thing I can do, now, is just expand the space between that definite initial moment, and that definite final moment, and find more and more moments I have had with you, or even the ones I didn’t have, no matter how previously insignificant.
