Taylor’s words are still fresh on my heart, like she carved them with a dull knife, and I kick myself for the millionth time since I got on a plane to Sweden four years ago. I should have at least told her, even though I knew my confession would end any chance for us. But now she just assumes I’m an asshole who didn’t want her, when it’s the exact opposite. Why the fuck would the universe play the cruel trick of having us move halfway across the world only to have to interact with each other every day?
