Now that we knew what we did, now that we’d cleared the air, now that I knew he wanted me back then just as much as I’d wanted him — it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be just friends with him. And I couldn’t be more. Which meant we only had one option of what we could be. Nothing. And that word sank into my skin like a tattoo with each new mile we drove, until I could no longer ignore it or pretend it wasn’t true.
