We were sitting on the booth, and there were tears streaming down your beautiful face. My heart is in limbo and you’re getting married. We held hands in precisely the way we shouldn’t.
“I can wait.” you said.
“You shouldn’t. This is your shot at happiness.” This wasn’t me being noble. This was me being truly in love with you; this was the truth.
I wanted to tell you that just that morning I had my heart shot down. But I can’t. This isn’t about me and her; or you and him. This is about me and you.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about running to the Philippines with you.” you wiped off your tears.
“You should’ve told me.” I answered.
We went to an alley and did what we had to do (it wasn’t sex; we’ve always had something much better). The dark and cold alleys of Chicago are our home.
You should’ve told me.