He'd stopped trying to bring him back.
He only came back when he felt like it, in dreams and lies and broken-down deja-vu.
Like, he'd be on the tube, and he'd swear, for half a choking moment, that it was him.
Then he'd notice that the boy was on the shorter side, and his hair quiffed up in the front.
And that he had a small sloped nose....and was reading Pride and Prejudice.
Phil hated Jane Austen.
Phil....
Standing behind him until he turned his head. Lying next to him just before he woke.
Making everyone seem duller and drabber and not good enough.
Phil ruined everything.
Phil, gone.
He'd stopped trying to bring him back.
YOU ARE READING
Two. (Phan)
FanfictionI was so, so fucked up, and he still loved me. Poetry is happy and sad, raw and beautiful, but it could never be real. Not like Phil, at least. I loved him. Oh god, i loved him. More then any poem ever written.
