“When you asked me to be your friend,” I said. “And you were such a geek in a God’s body…I knew I loved you. Then, when I asked if you were gay and let you stare at me as I laid in the grass, I knew I loved you. When you stood there and watched the bats with me and grabbed my hand, I knew I loved you. When you bandaged my cut. When you punched the tree. The wisteria. The real question is when didn’t I know I loved you?” “When didn’t you know?” He asked. “When I didn’t know you existed,” I said. “Once I knew you existed, well, there wasn’t a time I didn’t love you.”
