Member-only story
The Boy Who Never Knew I Loved Him
There are ghosts — and then there’s him.
I should have said the words, done anything to make the confession known, made every effort to make sure he felt loved.
Maybe then there might have been a different ending.
He was the kind of boy who turned in on himself whenever life didn’t go his way. I didn’t hold this against him because I was the same way. If someone hurt me, that person rarely ever knew. I would smile and act the same as if I were starring in a solo stage-show where my performance would mean everything.
People didn’t realize when we were wounded. We displayed our best expressions for the occasion. We would have been merciless if we had been able to use these talents in practice other than in our social circles.
But sometimes I would still try to bridge the gap between us. “Are you okay?” I would ask, my voice low so no one else would hear. And then he’d shoot me this nervous look before his eyes shuttered and the smile returned like clockwork.
“Don’t worry about me,” he would say, his tone the perfect impersonation of good-natured ribbing. “You should worry about yourself.”
But I never did. It was somehow always about him.
