The creepy thing is
I'll probably always love him.
At least, I know I’ll always love the cataclysmic heart pounding that comes with thinking I love him - which is more like the adrenaline one might feel when diving into a bomb shelter, sniping government officials, or enduring sudden in-flight turbulence.
What’s life with out regrets and speculation anyway. Humans love poetic tragedy. There is a palpable romance to enduring, secret love and snow storms of could-of, would-of and should’ve - and those most painful, what if's.
I give a lot of credence to parallel universes these days. There’s a bit of consolation there. Go parallel me! Go go go!
