There are no phonecalls anymore. No late night whispers and no falling asleep together through a void of a hundred miles and that supposed-to-be-awkward silence over static. Over the phone. There is no desire coming my way. Nothing like it was before. There is no "beautiful". There is no "gorgeous". There is no "perfect" and no "I can't believe I've actually found you". Not anymore. There is no "I want to hold your hand and I don't care who sees". There's no "Come away with me". No "I love you" and no "Just because". There is a fucking elephant in this void and I brought it up once, only once, and got an "I hadn't noticed". There is something wrong and I don't want to care. But I do. Nevermind. And so I've started keeping secrets again. We exist at night, and only in certain places. Me in the passenger seat of his car. Him in my bed. He doesn't ask anymore if I'm okay. It doesn't matter. I'd be too afraid to tell. I used to tell him everything. The weight of the silence I keep, it'd break the back of the elephant in the middle of the way. This gigantic, beautiful creature. I'd crush it. I'd crush us. And so he comes over when he feels like it. Once a week or less. I know he's afraid to tell them when it's over. I know I'm no different. He'd be afraid to tell me too. Maybe it's not that he would be. Maybe he actually is. I am in no position to have my heart broken by somebody who shouldn't have my heart in the first place. We used to play games. "Tell me something I don't know". He tells me about a cure for incurable, inoperable cancers. But it's just not it. It's two years too late. And god I love him, I really fucking love him.