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I knew being with him like this would be good, and fun, and maybe even funny, but I’m surprised how my chest keeps twinging like my feelings have too much weight, and my rib cage might crack under them. I keep catching myself just before the words can tip over my lips: I love you.
He loves me. Present tense. And I love him. He knows me, and I see him.
It doesn’t feel natural, or come easily to me, to let anyone close. But you—you make love so easy, Daphne. You make me think I already deserve it, exactly how I am.
So don’t go. Because I don’t want you to. Because you’re my best friend, and I’m in love with you.�
