It wasn’t love, of course it wasn’t love, I never suspected it to be, or even saw it as more than what it was, whatever it was. But damn, if the past six months weren’t beautiful.
She was so eloquent, yet always at a loss for words. Or at least not the right ones at the right moment. She described “it” best though, as those closest to me can attest to. Even if the words entirely weren’t hers, they entirely were her words, unmistakably genuine and true and perfect. And so it is, a good, though not particularly happy, ending.
And I guess all we can ever really be Is grateful.
