"I hope you know that no one will love you like I did. That’s not bitter, or resentful, it’s just the truth. I hope she kisses your freckles. I hope she looks after you in the dark. Nurtures and adores the angry and the fight of you. I hope she marvels at the ugly beauty of your nose. That she touches your skin with all the wonder of a child seeing their first firework show. That she’s good to you . Doesn’t get too angry when you don’t talk to her for a few days. Waits patiently for you to come back and love her again. Faithful, just like you need.
But know, it won’t be the same. It won’t even come close to the thunderstorms that were moving beneath my skin from what I felt for you. I would have loved you. I would have kept stoking that fire until I was shaking and smouldering with it. Until every word I hiccuped began to sound like ‘come closer.’ I would have loved you till there was nothing left. Until we were both empty and full from the storm of it. That doesn’t happen often, not everyone can wring themselves out so completely and still be spilling over. So I hope she loves you, I really do. But I also hope that you know it’s not the same. I hope you realise what you lost and somewhen, 40 years from now, that realisation shakes you to the bone."
"Please don’t forget. We’ll ignore one another’s existence. We’ll be assholes towards each other. We’ll avoid our true intimate thoughts. We’ll disregard the past. Just promise me you won’t forget me. That glimpse of me that you saw. Yes, the real me. Promise you won’t forget."
"I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’"
"I decided on you, don’t you get that? I decided on you. I don’t want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty, or whatever. I like spending time with you, and I like just being around you, and I fucking decided on you."