I feel kinda like a jerk...
How could he ever expect me to forget all that he did? And for himself, that too. He was selfish, it was too true. All he ever did was for himself. He wanted other people to be at ease just to get rid of the feeling that nagged him all day and night: people are living pathetically, but not you, oh no. You have all that you could ever hope for; three meals a day, water to bathe in, money, a routine.
The Other People loved him too, with all they had. And that was exactly what bothered him. He had just about everything, and they had nothing. So shouldn't they have despised him? Why were they happy in his company, when he himself would be rotting on the inside with guilt? But they all had a deep affection for him because he would do everything in his power to make them feel somewhat at ease. Alas, not even he could set the world right.
I loved him too, I really did. Only, my love for him was different. I would've done anything for him, even jump in front of those damnable cars all the Rich Ones like him had, the ones he would always be harping about. I loved him romantically, but I had vowed to never tell him.
He did not need to be disturbed any more than he already was, for he could not please everyone. But he knew that I was in love with him, and I knew he was too. So we would not verbally speak it, but we would show each other sometimes, just how strongly we still felt. Because society was insane and if it were to ever find out about our delicate, fragile link, he would have to go through much worse consequences than I ever would. After all, the way fate had it, he was heir to a wealthy family and I was poor, and we both were fully grown men.
We would forget then, we had decided. He would carry on with his magnificently productive life, making others' better, and I would go back to my own boring one, in which all I ever did was wake up, survive, sleep, wishing in every living moment that I would stop the next.
