He would be there for me. He wanted me. He loved me.
How could I explain myself. For thinking such rude thoughts only moments after his confession. I don’t know if I want him. I don’t think I want to love him. But I do. I love him so much its almost wrong. Wrong and Right. Is it wrong to wonder if he’s being honest? Is it right to in this situation so young?
“I love you, too.” Those words were true. I meant them as soon as I realized that I did, in fact, love him. The flavor of each syllable stunned me. It was bittersweet, and I felt at fault for that. Wasn’t first love supposed to be unbearably sweet- not sour at all?
And when the sun’s fading light hit his face, bent towards mine, there was so much happiness in his eyes it nearly killed me.
Through all I’ve lived through, his happiness- because of me, very nearly killed me inside.
Alright, I’ll admit I was jealous. Insanely jealous, that this person could love me and be happy, while I loved him back, could not.