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I’ve loved him my whole life, and somewhere along the way, that love didn’t change but grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that I did not have when I was a child. It grew with every new longing in my body and desire in my heart until there was not a piece of me that did not love him. And when I look at him, there is no other feeling in me.
My love for Finny is buried like a stillborn child; it is just as cherished and just as real, but nothing will ever come of it. I imagine it wrapped up in lace, tucked away in a quiet corner of my heart. It will stay there for the rest of my life, and when I die, it will die with me.
And I know that winter is supposed to end, but things are not always the way they are supposed to be.
This is friendship, and it is love, but I already know what they have not learned yet; how dangerous friendship is, how damaging love can be.
Perhaps he would ask me what books mean to me. I would tell him that it means living another life;
“Can I tell you that I love you first?” Finny says. I begin to fall slowly, slowly down.

