A primary friend. A new one. One who will be entirely mine as I am entirely his. One who will support me, rather than abandon me, when my strength fails. One who will give up his time so as to be with me, who would rather sit in mournful silence with me than in laughter with anyone else.
Someone who will not be repelled by my advances. Someone who will gather up the flood of soul that I spill to him and hand it back to me in his cupped hands, rather than running in fear of being drowned.
Someone who will not frighten me away, not make me so terrified of rejection that I thicken and reinforce the dams holding back the flood of soul or tears or thought or pain, trapping it all inside myself and presenting a stone facade, impenetrable, unknowable, impossible to love.
Someone. Does he even exist?
Goodbye, Chris. It has been fun. I am sorry it hasn't been anything more.
You're not. You're not sorry at all.