“I love you too,” he said, but it wasn’t like that. Like I love you. Those three words for him meant growing up together, camping, s’more sticky fingers, Magic the Gathering, and awkward teenage angst. They meant forgive me and I’m sorry and I missed you. We were years together and years apart, and somewhere along the way, in the loss I’d felt in his absence, the lines had blurred for me, and I wished like hell they had for him too.
