when we unanimously said one of our favourite parts of Paris was the Champs Élysées, i brushed it off as sheer coincidence - told myself it was as insignificant as the odds of, say, people having apple as their favorite fruit or black as their favourite color. now, i don't think i could ever go back to Paris, stand in front of it and not think of you.
i found comfort in knowing you were smart, in a conventional (rather than unconventional) way. partly because i didn't have to exhaust myself with unravelling unconventional intelligence (a good change for once) and mostly because you could always understand the way i play with my words, especially when i used them to edge on sarcasm or dark humor.
in hindsight i guess maybe this was inevitable. despite the way we cohesively agreed on my favourite songs & your favourite tv shows, despite the comfort i felt sitting next to you, almost like i've known you for a long time. despite having nights when i wanted to go back out in the rain just to kiss you goodbye, despite the way you said i made you feel when i first caught your eye.
truth is, it was a lot, maybe too much. some things get too much, it becomes not enough. it was almost enough. but it never is, it's never enough.
now we've resorted to half-hearted conversations & talking about the weather & not being able to say a simple "i'm not feeling well" because we're not sure what either of us would, or could, say. if we could avoid being where we've ended up now by giving up the summer we had, would you? when you first asked me if we were platonic, should i have said yes? would i ever hear you say "for you, always" to me again?
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