I pointedly keep my attention straight ahead and blatantly ignore the question, not in the mood for any of this- not able to. Not now when it’s so fresh.
“We all know he matters the world to you. So, why are you afraid to tell him that?” Amy pushes, making sure to keep her tone quietly gentle. Again, she waits long enough to see I’m still not going to say anything, my jaw setting with determination, before she sadly muses more to herself than to me, “It’s a tragedy the way he loves you. You're in love with him and he's in love with you. And it's like a goddamn tragedy because you look at him and see the stars and he looks at you and sees the sun. Yet you both somehow think the other is just looking at the ground or something. It’s a tragedy that people and lovers will read about a hundred years later, and weep over it. Because I’m surer than ever that if you two could not make it; no one will.”