"I mean you're still in love with him."
And I get confused and say, "I don't stop loving anyone." I pause, unsure how to continue. "I mean, he isn't who he used to be."
Pants starts to say something. "You're in love with the idea-"
"No. I don't know who he is now."
I love who he was, at some point.
A year ago today I was at his parents' house with him, powerless. Looking up flight times and prices so he and I could go to Eugene OR and find out what happened to his dead brother. Put things in order. You know, like trying to put back together a glass you just shattered.
Yeah. I miss him. Yeah, I still love him. I probably am still in love with him. I never know how to properly articulate the kind of pain I've discovered because of this situation. Suck the yolk from an egg and what's left is my chest.
I don't want to go home.
I can't bear to be alone.
And yet I remain.
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