Dear T,
I suspected from the start that I was not the first girl to feel like this about you. In classic smitten fashion, I could not and still cannot really conceive that anyone could know any part of you and not fall for you.
I just knew I would do this with you, knew that the repeating passage of time would not make it easier. I knew I would have to experience this with you, take what I could and then leave when I must.
It was always worth it. It was no torture. It was no sacrifice. I am no martyr.
You are still an inspiration, my lovely and imperfect inspiration.
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