Once upon a time, a long long time ago, when the world was small and safe and made sense, there was someone that I loved. Later, when the world left me jaded, I understood that childhood love is a trecherous and shifting thing, as is childhood itself. And that I never loved him with a passionate love at all, but I was able to say that I did, because he would never notice and my friends needed to hear something. But I did love him, in the way of a sister for a brother, or a girl who never had a brother for a boy who didn't mind that she would never fit anywhere.
He has changed since then, of course. He isn't who he was. The boy who was terrified of growing to be his father, the boy who swore that he would never grow to be his father, grew to be his father and knows no fear, and does not keep his promises.
Time has passed by, as it does, and I no longer see him. I guess, I haven't known him for years. But when I am more alone than usual, and when I remember or am reminded that I don't fit anywhere and never have, I miss him. And I know he isn't who he was, just as I am not who I was, and I probably wouldn't miss who he actually is if I did know him... but I miss him all the same.
