Last year in April, I met the sweetest boy, the day I started going to youth group. We met outside that day, we haven't since, in the garden near the light house. Every time I'd glance over his way he's shyly look away. At the end of the meeting, we all held hands in a circle and prayed. I'm not exactly the religious type, and I only went that day because my friend asked me to come along, but I bowed my head, grabbed his and a girls hand, and prayed for the first time in my life. His hand was shaking, and slightly sweaty, but I felt something there. He was adorable, kind, sweet, and a total stranger. But I liked him. We didn't really talk much, and this isn't exactly a whole "our eyes locked and we were instantly in love" kind of story. We didn't even have a real conversation until late June. In early June, my ex boyfriend (whom I had dated for two years, and was cheated on every single one of those days) gave me hope. He and I spent the day together, talking, laughing, holding hands for the first time in a year. I thought it was going to be different. That night he went to a show with a girl 2 years younger than us, and ended up dating her. I was crushed. Honestly, I was broken. I didn't know what to do with myself. The next week, I went on a mission trip which lasted ten days with the youth group. The boy, Brett, was there. On the second day, we were all sitting around the campfire singing and talking about life. Before we sang, though, our pastor told us to spread out through out the camp ground and find a place to pray. I laid on the ground, looked up at the sky, closed my eyes, and prayed for happiness. Brett's face popped into my mind, and I didn't exactly know why at that moment. But that was the second time I've ever prayed. Later, at the campfire, Brett was beside me, as he was every day and every second of that trip. Our hands brushed together, and even though I'm a very physical person, that's all I needed. We sat like that for an hour or so, calm, indulging in each others presence. Once it got late, and everyone went to the tents, he laid back and stared at the stars. Out of impulse, I laid beside him and we pointed out the brightest, listening to his iPod even though we weren't supposed to have technology that week. That was the first night we really met each other, and honestly, it was perfect. For the rest of the trip, we were inseparable even though we didn't plan on it. He happened to be wherever I was going, and vise versa. The second week, we went to a giant concert-like camp called Creation where there were constant shows and speakers. It was late, and we were watching the main band play with his arms around me, standing behind me. A love song started to play, and the lead singer shouted, "This is for all the lovers in the crowd! Men, kiss your ladies!" He looked at me, and I looked at him, as everyone from our group egged him on to kiss me. We both laughed and blushed because, I'll admit, I was nervous. I'm not too sure if he was as well. He leaned in, and quickly kissed me. Short. Sweet. It was perfect. I smiled and he held me closer. That was our relationship. Cute. Sweet. Like him. After the trip, we saw each other once a week or more. I met his family, he met some of mine. We texted all day, every day. About everything. He always listened, and I always tried to be there for him when he needed me. We kissed a total of three or four times during our relationship. But then, my best friend started hating him, because my mother favoured him over her. She bashed him constantly, saying he was a douchebag and no good for me. He was the sweetest guy I have ever met, and he was perfect for me. Somehow, she warped my image of him. I ended up breaking up with him in October, with my teeth gritted and tears forming in my eyes. I didn't want to, but I felt like I should. I convinced myself that I wasn't good enough, that he wasn't happy. He was crushed. Destroyed. I felt terrible. I wanted to go back, I did. But then Matthew, my best guy friend of four years, ended up kissing me one night. Things escalated, and we ended up dating for two months, until he left me for some girl in another state. Brett claims that he gave up on me at that moment. I still think he loves me, I know he does. I love him. I do.
Last month, we went on the second mission trip that I went on. It lasted 7 days, and I witnessed him next to other girls. It hurt, a lot. Probably more than I thought it would. One of the nights, he was sitting next to me playing my Pokemon game, and I said something along the lines of not being able to find the right guy. He looked at me and said, "well you just have to find someone exactly like me." I smiled, and agreed. He rested his head against my shoulder until we had to get up for dinner. It was sweet. I wish it could have lasted longer.. A few nights later, I was sitting in the church at 1 in the morning, crying because I wished for nothing but to believe in something. God. Love. Patience. Happiness. Anything. I got up from the chair to go upstairs, and he saw me crying. I tried to hide it, I did. I didn't want him to get involved with my problems again. He stopped me, so I walked over to the chair in front of him and sat on my knees so we were face to face. He kept asking me what was wrong, and I said that it would just complicate things. So he sighed and went to walk away. He was 5 feet away, as his back was turned, I whispered, "I miss you." He turned around and stopped, almost as if he didn't believe that he just heard that, and asked me what I said. I just shook my head and went upstairs.
I miss him.
He tells me, and everyone else, that he's over me. I hope he isn't. I only need one more chance to prove to him that I won't hurt him again. One chance, and it'll be different. I love you, Brett. I need my sunshine back.