I don't remember our last hug. It must have been that day, because we hugged every day. But if I had known it was going to be the last one, I would have hugged you longer and tighter. I would have breathed in that moment so I could remember how it felt. And then maybe I could dust it off, later, when the years had worn away the pain, and feel just the love. Even if you didn't really love me, if you couldn't really love me, I felt loved. And I got to feel what it was like to love freely again. At least for a while. It was what I wanted. I wanted us. Did I fool myself? Does it matter anymore?
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