You see,

I have this stuffed alligator.

It’s really a crocodile, it says so on its tag.

I bought it during my 7th grade trip to Pittsburgh.

It wasn’t relevant to the trip at all, I just knew that I wanted it.

And everyone called it a crocodile.

Except for him.

I guess he just preferred alligator.

But that didn’t matter to me.

To this day I still call it an alligator,

because he did.

He wasn’t my first love, I don’t even know if I ever really loved him. But I went through a lot with him. A lot of endless nights crying. Never ending hours waiting. Those few perfect moments of bonding. Would I change any of it? I don’t think so, because even though there was so much pain, I believe the experience made me grow inside.

So now, even though everything is over, and I feel no more pain when I see him, I still remember.

And every time I see my stuffed alligator...

I remember.