It’s been so long. I hardly look at you now. It’s just my luck that I found someone who shares so much in common with you, though. I told him he was very different from you, because I’ve said so many bad things about you. But maybe it was a lie.
I kiss him and he gives me the same look you did… almost. It’s not full of love. It’s not full of excitement for the future.
I hold his hand and it feels the same…. well, not really. He doesn’t squeeze it three times to say he loves me. He doesn’t squeeze it once to say it’ll be okay. He doesn’t squeeze it at all.
I give him a major pep talk, something he needed to hear, and he reacts like you would…. maybe. I think you’d compliment me after. I think you’d hold me to let me know that I’m safe with you, as you are always safe with me.
But I’m not safe with him. I’ll say something about myself and he’ll give me a dirty look, like I’m abnormal, like I’m unsatisfactory. You swallowed it all up with pleasure. You loved everything. You understood EVERYthing. He’s not on the same page; he’s not even in the same book.
You and I made an amazing chapter, though. I go back and read it sometimes. Not as much now, but still sometimes. I think I was trying to write the same story with another person. It’s not nearly as good. But I loved our story. I don’t know if I’d want anything else.