thephandomlife
There isn't any blurb that could explain our story. Mine and Phil's.
What we have is more than just a word, a picture, a feeling. It's a life, our lives.
I hate how things have happened, in fact, I hate that there's a story to tell. If there wasn't, then maybe things wouldn't have come to what they did...
Y'see, I love Phil. It might not always seem like it, but I do. God, I love him more than the last cookie in the jar, more than the smell of fresh toast, early in the morning, more than freaking Delia Smith and her recipes. And I hope that's what he remembers our story as too-not as a story of resentment, or of hurt, but one of love. Because that's the only thing that really matters now.
I love you, Phil. That's why I couldn't let you go.