Were we friends now I would tell you, without equivocation, that I love you. I would remind you of your worthiness with honestly glowing reviews.

We are not friends now. We are something more desirous, a greedy beauty that haunts, unwilling to die with “Friendship” on the tombstone. As self-indulgent as YOLO, it sneaks into dreams: we are not friends.

But how, then, shall I tell you I love you? How trite. “I love you but I’m not in love with you.” That is a truth somehow, but so bitter. I want to discuss the in-between spaces again. Nothing exists on a binary! I could shout it at the world.

But to you, I want to whisper with my mouth soft against your cheek and my wet words in your ear, “I love you.” A simple truth with a promising future.