The "special" factor of things is love. Without love things have no meaning. That's why I used to think in my younger mind that, maybe he loved me because of how special things were. Because of the substance of love that the memories had.
He did love me but not how I thought he did. He loved me like how he always said, as my best friend. And that's the love he showed me all along, in all the memories. That's why I could feel his love, because that's how he loved me.
I wasn't delusional about his love, but I was delusional about the type of love that I thought he was giving me. I misinterpreted our friendship.
