The ego of a seventeen year old is more fragile than a bubble close to bursting. I was no exception. I still remember the buzz in the air and the chatter at lockers. Prom proposals were a spectacle I couldn’t escape.

For the first time it seemed, I saw him. He had lines etched around his eyes and a beard that matched the hair on his head. I saw that the necklace I had given him last month for his birthday was missing. Most of all, I saw the absence of me in his gaze when all I could see was him; all I ever saw was him.