We were 12 when we first met.
We were 12 when I fell in love with your form.
We were 12, and I fell in love with your eyes.
We were 12 when I wanted to surpass you.
We were 12, when I left for Australia.
I told myself not to cry.
I did anyways.
We were 13 when we raced. I lost. Again. I gave up.
And we were 16 when we met again.
We were 16 when you got me on my feet again, making me feel alive as our bodies shot through the water.
We were 16 when I fell in love all over again.
We were 16 when I gave up again. There was no way I could beat you.
We were 16 when you found me, held me and got me to join Iwatobi for the relay.
We were 16 when I watched you swim, audience cheering.
We got disqualified.
I didn’t care.
We were 17 when I stayed awake all night, crying over you and your stupid, beautiful face.
We were 17 when you got less time to talk with me.
We were 17 when I saw you everywhere. In the water, in the sky, in the flowers, in the grass.
We were 17 when I started suspecting that you and Makoto were an item.
I told myself that I didn’t care.
We were 18 when I asked about your relationship with Makoto. You told me that you were like brothers, asked why I wondered.
We were 18 when I kissed you. You stared at me like I was some sort of abnormal creature. Then, you mumbled a quiet “I have to go” as you slung your bag over your shoulder and left.
If you’d ask me if i cried, I’d say that i didn’t.
But I did.
All night, until morning.
We were 18 when you asked me why I had kissed you three days prior.
We were 18 when I was forced to confess. Confess that I’d been in love with you ever since we were 12.
We were 18 when you told me that you loved me, too.
We are 20 now.
We will be 20 tomorrow, when I’ll ask you if you want to go to Australia with me to get married.
We will be 20 tomorrow, when I’ll propose to you.
You were my first love, Haru.
And I can only hope that you’ll be my last.