You remember a man. He was very kind and friendly. You remember him that way. You remember him in great detail. He lived next door to you. There's no not remembering that fact. You also recall that you knew him well, but you admit now that you didn't really know him in the first place.
He wasn't himself in public, he was too busy trying to fit in, although it was hopeless and you knew that. He didn't belong with the people he tried to place himself with.
You liked his simple suit. You thought it was absolutely charming on him. When you looked at him, all you wanted to do was smile, and you did that.
You don't really smile anymore. You don't find any reason to. All the lights and the music are all gone anyway. There's no point. Your views have been distorted, your life goals, you can't find any reason to go after them. You're lost, but you're exactly where you wanted to be.
He came to your house a lot, and you went over to his hoping horribly that he'd come to yours even more. He came over and you had tea and cakes and things that were baked without love. They were just made and you served them and while they were being made you really didn't care if they were good or not. You were too busy thinking about him, you forgot they were even being made. They burnt and you gave up, and just bought some from some store on a corner.
He didn't show up and you waited. You sat down briefly and still waited. You fell asleep and woke up and you sighed because you thought he'd forgotten about you. You wanted him to notice you, so the next time you saw him at that party you ignored him.
You looked out your window the next day, and saw him out in his yard. He looked at your house and shook his head. He didn't see you stalking him and you felt guilty and when he locked eyes with you, you walked away.
Later on you found out he was sick the day of your scheduled meeting. You weren't sent a note or told by a servant, but he showed up at your front door and apologized to you greatly. You nodded and dragged him inside, fully ignoring his protests of him not being fully over whatever sickness he had. You hadn't heard him over the sound of your own soaring heart.
You got sick and he visited you, again he apologized and you didn't nod because it made you dizzy. He stayed with you but you fell asleep and this time when you woke up he was right there.
You waited for him to wake up, but he didn't and you waited. He looked tired and the floor didn't look comfortable. You felt better so you put him in your bed and left to make sure lunch was prepared.
You don't remember screaming when it happened, but you did. You remember the pain that shot through you and you crumpled over around your injury.
He came running and moved you the wrong way and said sorry, and he tried to help again but he messed it up and you screamed at him more. Water hurts burns. You thought he would have known that.
You remained friends, hearty neighbors. You two used to go driving around town in that custom job car. You visited Daisy and socialized briefly with Jordan. She knew a lot about people, but as it turns out she was just like the rest of them. Careless.
If you said you missed Daisy, you'd be lying. You only feel numb these days. You only miss him and no one else. You realize now just how much a part of your life he had become and that he was a sacrifice for all the cowards of this story. He died and everything changed. He died and you remember everything he's ever told you. He died and what now?
You're out standing on the dock right now and you know you shouldn't be. The new owners of the old Buchanan residence across the sound had shut out that old green light months ago. You don't miss it because now it can't mock you. A part of you wanted it back, but that part of you was always careless. You've been just like them.
'Worth the whole bunch put together.' What a statement that came around just to bite him. Although he was always glad it had been said.
You remember his house and his hospitality and how the room lit up a little more when he was in it, or maybe that was just your own sight that saw that. Your mind told you he was one of those who were there for you, but you never believed that. You realize now that he was the only one there in your world. The one who cared too much. You wish now that it was about you. It never was at all. It was always only about Daisy.
Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. You never spoke to her again. She called once. You couldn't hear her over the sound of yourself crying. Everything that was made for her came rushing back and you didn't want anything to do with it anymore. Everything that was made for her out of love she didn't want. She was selfish. Everything was always about her, never about you. She had all the attention, even his at one point. She had yours. She was so close to you, wasn't she? Close to him? She had to be close to him! Young and wild together, weren't they? Well then why didn't she come to the funeral?
You arranged that funeral. You tried to make it perfect. Only a few people came. You couldn't get in contact with his family. You had no help. You buried him in a beautiful box with the best headstone that could have been made by man. So many flowers, but you suppose that the flowers were for your own conscience. You were selfish.
You were sick, and are sick. You always will be sick. Sick because your heart is broken. Sick because you haven't eaten. Sick because now the world makes you that way. You were sick to think that anything would work out. He's gone, she's gone, and you're lost.
You wandered away from the dock and over to his house. You walked inside, just wandering and looking. It was still abandoned. No one wanted it now.
You remember when the inside of this house looked lively. There were plants and you sat here where there used to be a chair. You could still see him sitting here through your own window. You left and went back to your own house next door.
You remember his face and wanting to touch it. You did one day but it wasn't an accident. You passed it off as one. You're sick. Sick to even think that you could have been anything more. Sick because the only thing you can think about is if he was still alive you would and could have him. As if he's choose you in the first place and not her. Her with her brown hair and you with your light blond and his with his dark locks.
You remember one more thing and you believe it's most important. There's just one little detail and it's true. His name was Nick Carraway and he took that bullet for you.