Better’s better than worse.

She says: this won’t make you feel any better, you know.

It’s more of a statement than a question.

I nod. It’s a nod of disagreement, appeasement. We both know it.

But we don’t ever seem to mind.

Maybe not in the long run. But that doesn’t mean we should stop.

It’s been a long day. Its been an even longer six months.

The past six years really.

It seems to all be coming to a head now.

The world is burning.

But this. This is safe. This is acceptance and distraction.

You know, you’re beautiful.

It’s more of a statement than a question.

She doesn’t really respond to that compliment any more.

She knows that I think she’s beautiful.

She doesn’t know why, she says.

I tell her it’s the same reason that we can’t stay away from each other.

We burn for each other. We live for each other.

No matter how hard we try.

You know, you’re wrong.

This time it’s almost a question.

She says: what do you mean?

This is a real question.

I tell her: you were wrong. When you said it wouldn’t make me feel any better.

All this time exploring each other’s psyches; we should have known.

I tell her that I love her. Despite the six months. Despite the six years.

She says she knows.

Maybe this won’t make me feel any better.

But I’ll never tell her that.

She doesn’t say love anymore.

dpd

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