Wanting always one more day with you, I began to consider that what I wanted, what I had always wanted, was forever. Then, what a disappointment to see you turn cold and unfeeling and realize we would spend the rest of our days, that is to say the greater part of our lives, apart. I am broken, and soft in loneliness, and rummaging through old memories, fading words scribbled on old bits of paper, and learning nothing new except that you loved me once and I loved you too, and now you do not love me and you intend never to love me again, and I love you. Why didnât I say it before? I love you.












