“How did you find me?” I asked as I heard someone sit down next to me. My friend had warned me he was approaching about fifteen seconds ago. I hoped that he was the one that just sat down and I hadn’t just creeped some random person out.

“How do you think?” Anthony said; I recognized his voice almost before he started talking. A weird butterly-in-my-stomach feeling shot through me, it was neither good nor bad. “I don’t know” I responded, “I made it as impossible as I could for you to do that.”

“I am aware,” Anthony said, I realized that he had been looking for a while, or at least had looked a lot, “but I’m always able to find something if I want to.” He finished. I turned to a new page in my sketchbook and started drawing Anthony’s face as I remembered it in order to aid my memory.

Neither he nor I looked at each other; I could sense him studying me, and realized I was guilty of doing the same. “What are you drawing?” I asked. “You’ll see.” I said, I didn’t want to tell him for some stupid dramatic effect. I sat in silence waiting for him to talk. “Are you going to say something to me?” I asked, I could feel him stammering for a few seconds before he started talking: “When I first found out that you would be here right now, for some reason there was some part of me that really wanted to talk to you again, I knew that I shouldn’t but figured that there would be no harm in doing so. I had all of these things that I wanted to say to you, but now I don’t want to, I can’t even think of them.”

I listened.

“I wanted to do the same thing up until a year back.” I said. There were plenty of times I knew where he was, I am not sure if he wanted me to find him or not.

“What stopped you?” He asked me.

“I just stopped thinking about you.” I said. I kept drawing.

I couldn’t tell what his reaction to that answer was. I could tell he was very indecisive with the way his breathing sounded.

“Ah.” He said.

“But either way, we’re here, on the same bench we came out to each other on, or kinda did, sort of, you know what I mean.” I said.

I could tell Anthony was uncomfortable, about what I don’t know, but it was most likely in part that he couldn’t come to look at me.

“Are you okay?” He asked. I was very confused

“Yes. I’m fine.” I answered for all three ways he could be asking the question.

“Great.” he commented.

There was another pause as I waited for him to talk.

“I never said sorry to you, for what happened.” he told me.

“You don’t have to.” I said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I’m just as much to blame.” I said.

“That doesn’t change that I’m sorry for what I did.” he said.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have to apologize.”

“Fair.”

I sighed, it was my turn to talk. “For the last two years, I have spent a copious amount of time drawing. Whatever I’m thinking I just draw it. A lot of times I don’t know why. When I’m done, I immediately scan the page and destroy it.” He paused, “I try to figure out why I drew something, but a lot of times I find it’s meaningless, or I drew it only for my pleasure.”

I looked off into the distance of the park. “I write.” Anthony said. “The same sort of thing applies to me. I write randomly, all over the place. A lot of time It’s intimate.” He paused, “I publish them online; anonymously of course.”

“Neat.” I said. I didn’t know what to say. If he wasn’t being careful enough I would have found them by now I guess. I kept drawing his face.

“Do you still like me, even somewhat?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He said. I tried not to find that weird. “I’ve tried to move on, but, I’ve just never been able to find someone. I’ve been on a few dates, but never further.”

I thought about what to say, and I understood what I wanted to, but I couldn’t put it into words very well, so I just skipped to saying the closest thing I could: “Nothing has ever compared to you, just, touching me, holding me.” I paused. “There was a sense of security I felt with you, a sense of trust I had with you that literally nobody else has ever given to me.”

“And I broke that.” Anthony said.

“We both did.” I reiterated.

I kept drawing. Neither of us said anything, nor looked at each other.

“I’m so bored of waking up”… Anthony slowly sang. “I’m so bored…”

I stopped drawing.

“… bo-ored of what’s in-side my cup.” I cut in at the same slow pace “I’m so bored; bored of bein’ all a-lone”

Anthony had stopped singing when I started, but continued at the next line: “Just hopin’ I found pour-pose in these pic-tures on my pho-o-o-one.”

“You know that song.” Anthony said.

“Yeah,” I said, “It’s a great song.”

I had finished my drawing enough anyway before the whole singing part happened; I tore it out of my notebook and placed it where I was sitting after I stood up. “I hope you find someone.” He said.

“I hope you do too.” Anthony said.

I walked away.

I tried not to cry, and was only mostly successful.