You built me a chair out of textbooks and put your sweatshirt on top. We smiled and you asked if I wanted to listen to some music. We shared your iPod and you played Bright Eyes, I had to lean closer to see the computer and keep the earbud in my ear. I felt like Natalie Portman and you were Zach Braff and Conor Oberst was our Shins moment and I knew my life was changing. I loved you like a 15 year old could love, fiercely and quietly and from beneath my eyelashes; I snuck smiles in your direction just to see you blush. We talked about Salinger and for two years you texted me every night asking me if we had homework which I knew you had already done and it was your shy way of telling me goodnight. Teachers compared us and so I kept my thoughts about your music a secret but I reveled in the bands you gushed over and I love them too, but quietly just as I loved you. We then matured and knew our time was coming to an end, we tried for more but the earbuds wouldn’t stretch that far and we fell apart and away. There was only a minor sting. But it was you, and me, and we were something but nothing all the same. We spent four years loving each other and never knowing who we really were.