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“Ten years ago he’d said these words to me, told me that he loved me. I’d believed they were the words of a lonely, infatuated boy: real, but not lasting. Now the same man was standing before me, saying that he’d loved me all this time – and that it was real. He didn’t care that I was older than him; he didn’t care that I was ridden with insecurities; and he’d forgiven me for doubting him.” — Jane Harvey-Berrick
Ten years ago he’d said these words to me, told me that he loved me. I’d believed they were the words of a lonely, infatuated boy: real, but not lasting. Now the same man was standing before me, saying that he’d loved me all this time – and that it was real. He didn’t care that I was older than him; he didn’t care that I was ridden with insecurities; and he’d forgiven me for doubting him.