I like him.
Ilikethe way he makes everything easier, even when it isn’t.
Ilikethe way he says my name, in a way that never makes me feel small, even when I’m falling apart.
Ilikehim so much it actually hurts.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling.
The tiny glow-in-the-dark stars from when I first moved in are still there, faded but holding on.
Just like me, apparently.
Maybe I alwayslikedhim.
Maybe it was there in the way I trusted him first.
I looked for him in every room.
Maybe it was there when I liked being in his presence.
In the way he caught my eyes in his and instantly calmed the storm brewing in them.
Maybe I was too scared to admit it because if I did, it would mean something real.
Real things break.
A tear slides down my cheek, burning my face in its way.
Every time I cry, it feels like the tears scrape my skin off, leaving deep scars.
Deep, unremovable, ugly scars.
I wipe it away before it can fall onto my pillow.
“Too late,” I whisper.
Because he’s gone.
Because I told him not to wait.
Because now, even if he still cares, I’ve ruined the timing.
Like always, I feel stupid.
Why do I always feel stupid?
Last time, the feeling was gone before it could leave a proper impact on my heart.
Because Luca was there.
I turn to my side, curling up, pulling the blanket tighter around me like it can protect me from my own thoughts.
Maybe tomorrow I'll forget.
But today, there’s nothing left to do but fall back into my routine of cutting and bruising my poor, broken heart.
I realize the thoughts stopped after the breakdown in front of him.
