Dear Adam,

Though it’s been years since we’ve seen each other, and longer still since we’ve talked, there are times when I think about you—stretches of time even. I wonder about you, wonder about what would happen if we found ourselves face to face, now more adults that children (though more often than not I still feel 17), years older, years different. Who would we be? Who would we be to each other?

You were always an enigma to me. I know that I never figured you out, and in the last four years, I’ve thought too often about how much I wish I’d tried. I liked the way you treated me, and treated everyone. I liked the way you crossed your arms, holding your elbows, and stared off to one side. There were moments when you seemed so young, so small to me, and then others when I felt like such a child, so silly, so superficial, when I was around you. You could fit in anywhere and seemed to belong nowhere. You floated in a way I never could, and I thought you were magical.

It’s been four years, and longer than that since we really knew each other. And even if the person I’m missing is gone or forgotten or changed beyond what I knew or remember, I still miss you. For the first time in a year, I’m going home. You’ll be there, and though I’m not sure if we’ll meet (I hope we do), I do know that I’ll look for you, like I always did, like I always will. Of all faces in the crowd, I’ll be looking for yours.

C