You are here, so grateful I am you returned, though only for a handful of days. [And when I said I missed you, that I'm glad you're here, you said: I'm glad you're glad.] Leaving again, day after tomorrow, and I think I can't go on, I'll go on*. I don't feel different; in fact, I may love you more, though this knowledge is too dangerous to share. Is it knowledge anyway, or just something I want so badly I've convinced myself it's something it's not? I think it shocks you someone desires you. Another summer to get through commences.
*S. Beckett
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