“I think I’m in love with you.”

The confession hung between us on that warm August night. The next day, she would be gone and every memory of us would fade to make way for new ones. That was the only reason I dared to confess my feelings that night.

A pause, then, “Oh Sylie,” she whispered. “I don’t, I can’t-“

“I know.” I didn’t dare look her in the eyes. “I don’t expect anything back, or for us to stay friends. I just,” my breath caught in my throat. “I just wanted to get it out. I didn’t want to regret not saying anything.” A tear- warm and wet- slid down my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

The crickets’ chirps echoed through the clearing. Trees rustled in the wind and the cicadas sang in the bushes. She didn’t say anything.

A warm hand slid into mine. “Sylie,” she began. Her breath was warm on my neck. “I love you. I do. But only as a friend. I’m not like you, though. Not in that way.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “And even if I was, I don’t think I could see you as anything more than my dearest friend.” She released her hand from mine. “I’m sorry.”

A chuckle made it’s way up my throat then thrned into a sob. “I think that hurts even worse,” I heaved- stuck between tears and laughter. “It was easier to accept when you were just straight, but knowing I wouldn’t have a chance even if you weren’t…” The sobs turned into hiccups. “Am I that unattractive?”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “No Sylvie. I just think I would prefer someone more butch.”

More tears were shed that night, but I will never regret my confession.