All I ever wanted was you, like the time we got groceries by Astor. You, with a basket with chicken and yoghurt dumped in it, and I trailed behind you and wanted.
There wasn't a clean way to end things. There couldn't have been. I wouldn't follow you to Texas, not with a half-broken heart and all of it, so unrequited. You'd only jokingly asked.
But I'm not sure you understood me. It was the evenings sitting on your radiator, with the radio on, watching movies on my couch, the errands, the time after church, those were the moments I wanted.
I loved you like a book that I'd reread. The kind of thoughts I'd only realized much later were different.
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