"Take your AZT." It became this weird sentence that meant "I love you."
"Take your AZT" said over coffee when he knew I was avoiding the little pill next to my mug.
"Take your AZT" as he held it out, watching my hand reach out from underneath the blanket I'd hidden under, depression eating at my body.
"Take your AZT" while I accepted food I didn't want to eat for a body that didn't want to live with a mind that just wanted things to stop.
"Did you take your AZT?" on days where he knew I hadn't. Days where I was up, moving around, not curled in with nausea like I was some days.
Pill bottle shoved in my hands when we'd fight about it. "I don't want my friend dying on me." The one time we kissed during the argument and you had to correct yourself awkwardly to 'boyfriend'.
Miss you, Mark. I shouldn't, I think, miss the circumstances of the relationship that we built but I do.
Roger (RENT) #💡💔
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