I love you.
To be fair,
He said it first.
The phrase hung there for a moment too long.
I didn’t love him.
Maybe not now,
But perhaps later.
But I said it back anyway.
I was too afraid to have a moment of awkward truth,
So I substituted it for a comfortable lie.
But now every time he says it,
I say it back.
And it hurts.
Because he doesn’t know.
And it has consumed me.
I’m reminded of it every time I see him,
Every time he messages me.
With every small interaction,
The guilt only grows.
And the longer it goes on,
The more I don’t want to tell him.
It’s gone on too far.
But now I don’t even know how to fix it.
I know how it will end.
And I’m afraid of it.
So I keep lying.
I love you.
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