I was sick. I loved.
I don't know if I was alone in that sickness, or if it was just that we had different reactions to the same virus.
I suffered a lot though I can't remember being happier. I still don't know what to do when I run into him. He looks at me and sort of quietly sings this song:
Please, do not let me go...
He knows I haven't. I can't really, and I hate myself for that.
While we're talking about the most recent traffic jam, I seem to sing back:
True love ain't that hard to find,
Not that either one of us will ever know
When I go home, my only confort is to listen to sad songs until I grow tired of myself.
Then, for a year or two, I go back to living in a parallel universe in which he doesn't exist.
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