There were a lot of things I never told you that summer. I couldn’t force your hand. No ultimatums. No expectations. No strategies. A story was handed to me, one different from the one I thought I had. It played out like a “choose your own adventure” book with every choice affecting the next chapter. We shared the beginning and filled in the middle together on our own. I never told you about the ending, about how many times I tried to write it by myself before realizing it was never mine to write.
It was always yours.
I had to wait until you were done to drop all my cards, to finally give away all the secrets I’ve been keeping from you when I’ve shared everything else so far. Only by the end could you have ever known how real and deep my feelings for you are, that nothing you did could have ever changed the way I felt about you. I had to keep these secrets so every other possibility would only ever be secondary to the weight my words carry. I’ve had to hide everything else I’ve seen and everything else I’ve known so we could both look back with a deeper appreciation for the story without becoming trapped by “what-ifs” and “I wishes.”
Consider these an afterword, a celebration of what was, instead of a eulogy for what might have been. You are the only person in the world who can fully appreciate the choices I have and the choices I make.
You are the only one.