“What would you wish for?” I’d wish for the guts to tell you I love you. Because I don’t need you to be perfect or magical. I just need you to stay with me. But a wound had been opened up tonight, and it was too big a risk. In New York, when we’d talked about the forever kind of happiness, he hadn’t offered me hope. He’d offered to meet me in New York once a year. He’d offered me a piece of his life, of his time, maybe even of his heart, but not the whole thing.
