Grief Is Not As Heavy As Guilt,

Because Even A Sliver Of Distance Between Us Is Infuriating.

I Do Trust You, Is What I Want To Say. But It Isn't True -- I Didn't Trust Him To Love Me Despite The Terrible Things I Had Done. I Don't Trust Anyone To Do That, But That Isn't His Problem; It's Mine.

I Ignore My Fear,” He Says. “when I Make Decisions, I Pretend It Doesn’t Exist.” I Stare At Him For A Second. I Can’t Help It. To Me There’s A Difference Between Not Being Afraid And Acting In Spite Of Fear, As He Does.

Sleep,” He Says. “i'll Fight The Bad Dreams Off If They Come To Get You.” “with What?” “my Bare Hands, Obviously.

I Love You," I Say. I Said That Once, Before I Went To Erudite Headquarters, But He Was Asleep Then. I Don't Know Why I Didn't Say It When He Could Hear It. Maybe I Was Afraid To Trust Him With Something So Personal As My Devotion. Or Afraid That I Did Not Know What It Was To Love Someone. But Now I Think The Scary Thing Was Not Saying It Before It Was Too Late. Not Saying It Before It Was Almost Too Late For Me.