"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."
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