How could you live each day knowing that you were simply whiling away the days until your own death?

I chose to believe that God, a benign God, would understand our sufferings and forgive us our trespasses.

I know this isn’t a conventional love story. I know there are all sorts of reasons I shouldn’t even be saying what I am. But I love you. I do. I knew it when I left Patrick. And I think you might even love me a little bit.

How could you live each day knowing that you were simply whiling away the days until your own death?

I realized I was afraid of living without him. How is it you have the right to destroy my life, I wanted to demand of him, but I’m not allowed a say in yours? But I had promised.

I let him know a hurt had been mended in a way that he couldn’t have known, and for that alone there would always be a piece of me indebted to him.

I held him close and said nothing, all the while telling him silently that he was loved. Oh, but he was loved.