A Regretful Old Man
I think I always knew I loved him.
...Not that I would show it.
I'm at least a hundred years old, so "always" knowing is a long time.
I'm old enough that everyone basically looks to me as their grandfather (not that I would ever be inclined to have my own children, and later grandchildren...)
I just think of all the students as my grandchildren.
But in all my years, I never did tell him how much I loved him.
It's one of those things that you delightfully keep in the back of your mind while it eats you away like a maggot feeding on a dead body.
...Oh, so pleasant.
But I grew up during a time where a man, me, loving another man was just wrong, weird, and all around frowned-upon.
Not that I could change how I felt.
I never got around to telling my best friend I'm hopelessly in love with him.
I can't decide if it's because I'm ashamed, or if it's because I'm nervous...I really just don't know.
I've lost my chance, now. And it breaks my heart every time I think about it.
I sit at my desk, stroking my beard and gazing at Fawkes; I am deep in thought.
What would've been different if I told him, and the world, of my feelings?
I am the grandfather, raised with old fashion views, who's afraid to show his love.
Sorry that it's been so long. Hope you like it, regardless. And it will be uploaded and finished these next few days, I promise.
xo -M