It's all Jonathan Larson's. With the exception of the title, which belongs to Elton John and Tim Rice, used in Aida. I know Roger loves me. I know he has always. But I also know, he loves another. He loves me like a friend, like a sister. Nothing like how he loves Mark. I love Roger the way Roger loves Mark. It's simple. Yet, so painful.

Just seeing Roger look at Mark kills me. Watching Roger watch Mark with deep admiration. I can even see a glimmer of lust in his eye when Mark comes out of the shower in just a towel. I notice how Roger blushes every time Mark says his name.

I can tell Roger has mark on his mind every second he's with me. In his sleep he let's out a small moan of Mark's name, where mine used to be. That was too much too handle. I could've left him right then. Let him be happy with Mark. But, Roger's mine. Roger came back from Santa Fe for me. He wrote songs for me. He got out of the loft because of me. He got over April because of me.

He's mine.

But, Mark is Roger's. I can tell by the look in his eye when another woman talks, hell, even looks at Mark.

I would give anything to be in Mark's place. But Roger would give anything to be with Mark. I knew this for ages. I denied it for the whole time. Until now, when it seems so petty to let Roger drown in our relationship.

And that's what leads me to now. Bags packed, by the door. I walk over to his sleeping form, and kiss him one last time on the forehead. He moans Mark's name, and with that I leave. I leave knowing the truth. Accepting the truth.