Tatiana found herself tapping her fingers on the table. It was an old habit of his. Every day more and more things remind her of him.

At times, she regretted leaving, but she'd always take it back quickly. She was a firm believer that things will happen if they're meant to be.

Dakota was exhausted. Both physically and mentally. He was tired of fighting himself every day. He was tired of thinking of nothing but her. Mostly, he was tired of living in the past.

In a sense, he was tired of thinking of her. Although every time he'd try to admit that to himself he'd take it back immediately.

He wished he could leave her behind. His heart beat faster, his heart hated that he even suggested that. His mind told him it was okay to think about her occasionally, but he needed to leave her in the past.

His heart, on the other hand, fought every step of the way. The heart was what was letting her haunt him. Her face, she laughs, her eyes, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Dakota
11/2/20__

Our first date was on March 21st. I had asked her out the sixteenth. I remember the anxiety that seized my heart. The tightness throughout my entire body.

I didn't want to ruin our friendship, but I knew I loved her. I knew it for a while. I remember doubting myself. I told myself I didn't have it in me. That I wouldn't be able to get the words out.

I did.

"What are you doing Saturday?" I asked.

Her hair was in a ponytail. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans. She smiled.

"Nothing."

I paused and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes just for a second. "If I were to ask you to go on a date with me, what would you say?"

"Oh, I don't know." She winked at me. "I'm kidding. Of course, I'd go out with you."

I sighed with relief.

"What's wrong. Were you scared of rejection, Espinoza?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter anymore, Tater tot."

"I suppose not. So anything, in particular, you want to do right now?" She asked.

"Not really," I said.

I don't recall what we did after that. Which is strange since I normally remember most details.

Do you think of me? Do you wonder what I'm doing? Even just occasionally. Or have you mastered putting me completely in your past, without a care?

'What would she think if she knew that I thought of her all the time? What would she say if she could speak to me again?

Is she still blunt? Does she still love animals? Does she still dance when nobody's watching?
Does she still have the necklace I gave her? Does she sometimes wear it and smile as she thinks of how we were? Or does she keep it hidden away, so the memories don't resurface?'

I ask myself, no, my heart asks my mind these questions until I find myself losing my mind. Why does it matter?

In reality, though, it does matter. My heart cares, and so do I.