For months he told me he loved me, it never felt genuine though. He liked me for all that I was and for all that I was not, but love, he had said, was a bit inaccurate.

I had uttered the 3 words first and I still remember how confused and honored he looked. His breath caught in his throat and he stared at me as if every star was in my eyes calling his name. Then he asked what it felt like, I told him security. It felt like no matter what, I would be there for him and he would be there for me. It felt like being a open book reading another book just as free, like there were no secrets and no better place but here.

He thought for a second, and said he felt all those things but secure. He still feared that I was one bad day away from being tired of him, and thus that he did not think he was in love with me, at least not yet.

“Give me time.” He said, hugging me, and I did.

I let him say he loved me as a response to the rare times that I said it to him. Until a month later when he was laying in my arms after a bad day and I was reading above him with my fingers in his hair. I loved petting his head as he laid on my lap and I relished in his beauty as i occasionally peaked below my pages.Then he suddenly looked up at me and asked what I would do if he died. I said I would move on, I would mourn for a couple months or years more like, I would look for him in every flash of light and radiohead album, I would celebrate his birthday every year, and I would move on. It was a bit brutal but it was also honest.

He said he understood and a second later he told me he loved me, and it felt real. So real that my hand paused and laid flat on his scalp as he hugged me tighter, not seeing the tears screwing with my vision as his face stayed planted in my legs. He looked so cute and part of me didnt wanna disturb him but another part wanted to ask him why. Through tears I pondered the questions. Why this, why here, why now? I was tempted to even ask through the cries, but something told me to wait. So i did. I continued petting his hair as the answers knocked on the door to my mind and a voice let me know the truth.

“Its because he doesnt need you.” It said, “and you dont need him. Yet you are here, and youre actively making the choice to be. Love does not run, it fights, it tries, and if need be, it moves on. That is why you love him, because he does not need you.”

I thought to be upset about that fact but it was actually comforting because if anything were to ever happen to me then the truth would be that he would be alright, and I was statisfied with that. Because I love him. And, simulatanously, because he loves me.