It was easy to pretend everything was the same. I dreamt that it was and I made that dream my reality. I accepted this poor reflection of us and drifted between what we were and what I hoped we would be.
We're fine.
Out with others I put on a worthy performance. He didn't know that I knew. They didn't know any different. I was both the puppet and the puppet master. Pretending was almost as good as the real thing. I clung on to the last fragile strands of our relationship, by the end of the night they had slipped through my fingers. Lying next to him in the stillness I listened to his steady breathing and felt his warm skin against my hand as I clumsily tried to hold his without waking him. I couldn't bear to be near him and couldn't bear to leave his side. I watched him, absorbing every detail and committing it to memory before dawn would arrive and the spell would be broken.
I had to tell him.
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