I will tell him about you then, when the guilt finally breaks me.
I write a short letter, sparing all small talk to cut straight to the point. And I know that the next time I see his face will be the last;
all red and streaked with tears as I tell him to leave.
There is somewhere he will need to be, as much as it pains me to acknowledge.

How strange to meet someone only twice and spend your whole life thinking thinking about them.

We have met a thousand times.

Although it seems to me I must have met him countless times in my lifetime.
How strange indeed...

How long must we spend talking about nothing?

He made so many promises that night, so many of them promises I dare not write down.
You are lucky to not have this gift of mine, but the terrible caveat is that I would never be able to explain why I walk this path.
You will only be able to see what I have denied you in that moment, which you have every right to do.