If I had the chance to relive one part of my life,

I’d do things differently with us.

I’d say “I love you” more often than I did,

and press a kiss to your lips the night we met.

I’d bring you flowers, yellow roses

just to bring warmth into your life,

because you told me you suffered too much.
I’d hold you tighter if I had the chance,

rest my head on your chest more, not less.


I’d place a kiss on the tip of your nose,

and maybe we’d get married

and dance to your favourite song.

I’d tell my mother you were the one.

I’d declare to her there was nothing but us.

I’d say something better
than “we’re too young,”

because it was such a silly thing to keep us apart.

But we were just kids, stupidly in love

and what could we do

when we were only thirteen years old?

If time were kind enough to give me another moment,

I’d learn how to listen to the silences

hidden between your words.

I’d keep every secret you trusted me with

and guard it like a treasure.

I’d walk beside you longer,
even when the road got dark,

and I’d whisper your name
like a promise
I meant to keep.
But time doesn’t wait,
and the past stays where it belongs.


All I can do now is carry your memory
like sunlight in my hands,

forgive the children we once were,

and thank you for teaching me

what love felt like the first time.

And if some distant evening

our paths should cross again,

I’ll smile at you softly

and hope you’ll know without words

that I always loved you

then, now, and in every life

where I get another chance.

And until that day,

I’ll plant yellow roses in gardens that aren’t ours,

watch them bloom and wither without you.
I’ll hear our songs in empty rooms,

and dance alone under a sky

that keeps its stars to itself.

It won’t change the past,

but it will remind me gently

how something so young

could still ache like forever.

I’ll walk down streets that feel like echoes,
where every shadow holds a memory of your face.

Sometimes I’ll whisper your name into the wind

just to feel it leave my mouth again.
Sometimes I’ll close my eyes

and picture the life we might have built

not to torture myself, but to keep it real

for a few more heartbeats.

And when the seasons turn,

I’ll stand at the edge of winter,

holding a single yellow rose,

knowing it will never reach you
but still lifting it toward the sky
 as if it might.


Because even if we never meet again,
somewhere in the quiet between my breaths
you’re still there,
thirteen and smiling,

and I’m still reaching for you.