A testament to the words we didn’t say. And him on a pedestal now that I’m here, now that he is just in my imagination, occasionally on my phone. His god-like presence. Me distracting myself with anything, falling into depression. Me setting my alarm for four AM his time so I can call him once he’s off work. Me writing him short letters revealing myself. Giving away the parts where I love him, I don’t say it, but I love him. Me wondering if I should regret not saying I love you at the last moment, but knowing that it wouldn’t have made a difference, I didn’t say it because it didn’t make a difference. I didn’t want to say it because it was my last night. I wanted to say it because I loved him. And I wasn’t sure if I was mixing the two up, I wasn’t sure if it was me or him or time or distance. So I didn’t say it.
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