"I will miss you, Vera," were the words I wanted to whisper as we waited in the pouring rain for her bus to arrive. 

But how could those words ever describe the relief I had felt finding someone like me in this backwards town? Or express the intoxicating taste of her lips? 

The bus screeched to a halt in front of us, coating my Vans in a layer of mud. 

"Well, this is it for us," she sighed, "goodbye." 

"Oh, and one more thing," she spoke softly with a wistful smile before boarding the bus, "I never loved you, Aloe."