With every shout in the void

"I am in love with you," I calmly state.

"It's been years," he retorts.

"It has," I simply say, as he just stares.

A silence falls between us, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, of moments stolen by time and distance. His eyes hold a universe of memories, Ones we once shared and ones we could never claim.

"To deny that after all this time I still think of you would be impossible. I can't starve myself the opportunity to tell you that undeniable truth. I'm still in love with you. Before the lies and the denying consume my soul, I am madly and deeply in love with you." My voice wavers, my words falling between us like shattered glass.

He inhales sharply, as if drawing in the gravity of my confession, as if the air between us has become heavier with longing. His expression shifts. Pain and tenderness intertwining, war waging within him.

In a contemplative reply, he says, "Every day is our day, even though we don't share them."

I've never heard a truer statement.

His voice softens, laced with a sorrow that seeps into my bones. "With every shout into the void, I'd make them echo for you."

The finality in his words settles over me like the last breath of a dying flame. He loves me. I love him. And yet, love alone is not always enough.

With those words, I move forward, knowing we could never be. But in the silence of the void, in the echoes of our hearts, we will always exist.