I knew we weren’t done, it was doomed, but somehow it remained in a fairy tale place running parallel to our realities- of both being with other people, miles and miles apart. I told myself it just couldn’t be, but clung to hope that you thought of me every time I thought of you, as if across time and space that crazy connection might still be there, that my hope was tethered to your heart still. I cried, boy did I cry. Long sobbing tears, fat tears of sorrow, short bursts of shrieking frustration, silent chesty cries that would suffocate my breath and heart, cried that crept up on me during long drives or in quite private afternoons. They got less… Over time they got less and less, eventually just becoming a little stab in the chest occasionally. I wanted you to reach out to me. I was afraid of you and afraid I’d ruin any chance if I reached out to you. But I succumbed months and months later; and you replied straight away. I almost fell off my chair. You said you had left her, you said your life was emptier (and fuller too), you said you had missed me terribly, that you had wanted to talk to me many many times, you wrote me long messages saying you felt that connection was so strong and it never went away… I was frightened and elated. And then we agreed to meet. Right away. I was full of nerves, anxiety, I wanted to show you my head was straight, my thoughts were clear, that I wasn’t a mess, that I was strong and full of inner strength- that you couldn’t hurt me again. But it did, within moments, those hands were pressed so tight into me, around me, you pulled me in tight to you, pressed hard against you, you held my fingers, wrapped yourself inexplicably around me, like not a single minute had passed in all the sadness and loss. I felt so happy, so exonerated that it wasn’t all in my head, that you couldn’t fake stroking every inch of flesh you could possibly find, my wrists, my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, the kisses on my nose, my head, my neck, my ears, they felt fucking real. They felt like home. And I stayed true, I didn’t crumble, I tried to to stay firmly in the moment, I didn’t want to think beyond the end of the evening. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. But eventually I plucked up the courage to say- what is this??? You killed me with a deathly blow, a point blank shot, “I can only be your friend”… My FRIEND?! This isn’t friends. We are friends, but bloody hell- this is way more… This is what is always has been since the day I very first met you, strong and unnerving. We tore each other’s clothes off, we sunk teeth and hands into each other, all laid bare, visceral and untidy, broken pieces of broken hearts smashed everywhere. We said our sorrys, we said our desires, we tore ourselves apart and put each other back together. I fraught my tears through my smiles, I couldn’t take my eyes off yours, I felt like I never wanted to leave you again. But I had to eventually, and so there we are. You’ve come and gone. You can only be my friend. You need your space, I still am no closer and no further away. I’m only proven and justified. But I’d rather be convicted and guilty and I’d rather be lied to bare face, than betrayed to the core. You’re betraying yourself. You’re betraying me. And I don’t know what to do. I want to tell you- I love you. So very hard. So very much. So very completely.