You speak such pretty words and do far too many things. You’ve always loved hard. Too serious for your own good. That isn’t criticism. I’m glad you care for things so delicately. But it’s no wonder that when you found out about my feelings, you thought I wanted the same affection you offered to so many others. The ones you thought were right—maybe they were. But I didn’t want that. Because that isn’t us, and I don’t want to be stuck in the same category as the very ones I helped you get. I’m quite happy on my own. Returned feelings would be nice, though I’m past the point of hoping. I like what we have. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I simply want what I’ve always wanted. The one thing I desire from all those I allow close enough to damage me.
Happiness. Peace. Contentment…
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