The Island

by Briar Prescott

“Am I in those plans?” I ask, echoing that moment from a long time ago. “In every sentence on every page,” he says solemnly.

I won’t tell him that he’s the best part of me. That I don’t know who I am without him. I won’t tell him that every good memory I have has his laugh as the soundtrack and him as the main character. I won’t tell him that the thought of waking up in the morning and knowing I won’t see him is hollowing me up inside.

“I have loved you from afar. Desperately. Quietly. I have craved and yearned and ached and wanted. For years. For the better part of my life.” My eyes are burning, and I want to squeeze them shut. I want to hide. I don’t. “For you us started on that island. For me we started long before that.” I dash the back of my hand over my eyes and take a big breath. “For me, it’s always been you. Just you. Always you.”

“I sometimes think the only reason I was put on this earth is to love you.”

“I’m making plans.” His smile widens. “Am I in them?” I kiss him. “In every sentence on every page,” I say. Like he’s always been. Will always be. In my book of life, every chapter is named Dylan. It’s the best book I’ve ever read.