Love Thy Neighbour

When I was fourteen, I became really close to my next-door neighbour. Due to COVID, she was one of the only people I was allowed to see, as our condos had a space for us to hang out in the open. The parking lot in front of my house, and behind hers, was where we’d meet. We spent our days sitting on our skateboards, having long talks about our future as we watched the sunset. 

We bonded over countless interests, but the most I ever felt seen was when we’d spend nights crying to each other. Her home life wasn’t the best, and I used to go out of my way to spend time with her when she needed a break. I would fantasize about ways I could save her and run away together from our rough situations. Deep down, I knew how I felt, and that’s why when the time came for us to go our separate ways at sixteen, I felt relieved yet overwhelmed with guilt. 

Years later, I buried this part of me deep, below where I thought no one could dig up. What I believed was my biggest shame. I've run into her twice since we parted, but the most memorable was during a date. Nearing the end of it, I bumped into her at a crosswalk, and although it was a brief interaction–quick hugs, excited hellos, and exchanged compliments–it was all I could think about after. It was almost as if I was never on a date to begin with, and our reunion was a meet-cute in a rom-com. 

For as long as I could remember, I’ve questioned what made me different and if how I felt was “right.” I lived in a constant state of pondering, but she felt like the answer. I just wish I knew back then that an answer doesn’t necessarily translate into a conclusion.