He looked a little disarmed at what I had said. “How could you know,” I repeated, my voice rising and falling, threatening to succumb to hysteria. “I never told you. How could you know if I never told you?” I said. “Its all my fault, all mine. Its not you’re fault that we’re sitting here today. If i had just been brave enough to tell you that…to tell you that…” I disgusted myself. Even now I had trouble saying it. Sitting here, with everything out on the table, i still couldn’t tell him. “Tell me what,” he said softly. Softly, yet anxiously. I wasn’t sure how he would take it. I wasn’t sure how I would take it. I’d always told him I’d never gotten over things well. When I hit a bump, it was easier to give up for me then to try and get over it.

What if he didn’t feel the same way? What would happen then? My love for him had always been like a brace for me. It helped me hope for something. I needed something to hope for.

I took a deep breath, looked him right in the eye and said, “I love you.”