The sheets he wore as his toga were the sheets on which I'd lain by his side all those Wednesday mornings all those months ago. A secret understanding only me and him knew. The softness hadn't changed, and it brought it all tumbling back. All those mornings where we hung like statues in the dark. I don't miss it. I don't regret it. I only wish we'd had more courage to acknowledge what was there for what it was, without trepidation. But life lept on, we both found the people we were looking for. We were an intermediary stage. Caught in lifeless limbo and then cut off with a sleek blade the day he left. Clean cut that left no rough edges that couldn't be softened by the passing time and the finding of true love not two months later. It's all over now, baby blue.
Don't give up. I'm only starting to see the gravity of your situation. the extent of your damnation. In short I don't blame you for your frivolous disposition. I blame myself for not being enough to change it. That came out wrong. I can't, nor do I want to, change you. I just wish I was insentive enough to make you wish to change. Or maybe change is non-existant. I want you to grow. You're playing a static and stagnant role whilst I am flourishing and thriving. I know I'm not the same as I was when we were first in love, but the change is amplified relative your inert stance. I've always cared about you, but that too has been altered by the hand of circumstance. I've known countless feelings for you, attachment, love, lust, caring, anguish, concern. I've always felt something for you. Now it's stronger than ever before. No more silly juvenile notions of "love". I care for you like a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. You say you don...
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