Tristan stood with his back to me and I stood in the door way, waiting for him to turn, to see me. I had left so many months ago, and I didn’t know how he would react to see me again, when he thought I was never coming back. My hands were clutching each other nervously and my fingernails were painted bright blue, his favorite color.

Tristan lived next door to me, he has since we had been kids. His mother had let me in. She was glad to see me, hoping I would cheer him up. I had heard the depressing stories of him sinking into a clumsy state of depression.

I grew tired with waiting. He just stared out his window, looking out at my house. I felt love for him swell up in me. I just wanted him to wrap his arms around me like he used to, and I wanted to stand on my tip toes and kiss his lips.

“Tristan.” I said quietly and I saw him tense up, he was only wearing dark pajama pants. I waited for him to turn, but he didn’t. “Tristan look at me.” I commanded quietly.

He turned and his sad sunken eyes widen and he looked like he might cry. He crossed the room, grabbing me almost roughly. He lifted me off the ground, holding me to him, crying. I wrapped my arms around him and ran my fingers through his medium length dark hair.

“Oh, Eliza, oh Eliza.” He sobbed over and over and I felt tears slip out my own eyes. He sat me down gently, but his hands never left me. He kissed my face all over and ran his hands over my hair. He even wiped a tear from under my eye.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered as he stared in my eyes.

“I know.” I hugged him around his middle, since I was so much shorted than him.

He grabbed my hands, gazing at my nails, he gave a small chuckle through all his tears.

“I love you.”