2am text with No Destination

When I was 13 I met a boy, Andrew. We were boyfriends for maybe a whole five minutes, then friends after that. A few months later, he says to me something like this: You're so cool Becca. But it’s weird, You're just not As cool as I thought you were when I first met you... and he said it with a frankness that to me indicated the only reason it left his mouth was that he was so truly mystified and needed to express it on the (extremely) off chance that I had some explanation to give him. I didn't know what to say and was surprised to find myself still standing there largely unharmed by the pronouncement but floundering none the less for some response to give. I don't recall what I said nor do I know what I should have said.
I find myself wondering at this point if there was some defining moment, in which my words or actions irrevocably changed your view of me. Or was it more subtle. The elongating shadow that grows with the sunset until it seems to reach forever, but is abruptly and replace by the nearly nonexistent streetlight version. Is there a way to get back to the place that kept you waiting to wake up so we could talk to each other again. Once I was lying in your arms weeping at the possibility of a time when I would not be welcome there. you said to me the only reason for me not being there would be if I didn't want to be. At the time it was hard to believe, but could feel that you believed it and that gave me comfort. Between that moment and this one...