he'd
been
right
all
along.
He was more than just my friend.
That's why it was so impossible to tell him goodbye –
because I was in love with him. Too. I loved him, much more
than I should, and yet, still nowhere near enough. I was in
love with him, but it was not enough to change anything; it was
only enough to hurt us both more. To hurt him worse than I ever
had. I didn't care about more than that – than his
pain. I more than deserved whatever pain this caused me. I
hoped it was bad. I hoped I would really suffer. In this
moment, it felt as though we were the same person. His pain had
always been and would always be my pain – now his joy was
my joy. I felt joy, too, and yet his happiness was somehow also
pain. Almost tangible – it burned against my skin like
acid, a slow torture.
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