Work Text:
Will we ever meet again?
You killed me.
Crumpled photos pale in comparison to the real deal. A tangible version of you, a you I could hold only a few days ago. I don’t understand your optimism, or your desire to enlist and relinquish all your control.
But I understand the desire to get out and the desperation that follows. Limited options, not much for a gay teen to do in the South side, you don’t think you have the brains to do anything more; you think you’re limited to what your body can buy.
But I’ve heard you shape your sentences, and even when rambling you have a way with words; soft but certain. You don’t see the you that I see.
You don’t know the way I looked forward to every meeting, a truth I kept hidden. Hiding behind the cold harshness of my words, a sharp contrast to yours.
You don’t know the way my world ended when you came to visit me that morning, a day I’d come to regret. One-word admissions weren’t enough.
You deserved so much better than me. A truth I knew well. I’d never let myself forget, intimately acquainted with the reality, it was bound to end.