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The last time I heard from you, you were telling me that your cancer was getting worse and you wanted to see me... but I already bought a plane ticket to move half a world away. I only had three days before I left, and there wasn't enough time to make the drive.
You were the best lover I ever had. You were gentle, thoughtful, affectionate and sweet. We bonded over the little things in life. We could talk for hours and not realize the sun was coming up. We could lay in your bed with the blackout curtains up, and sleep until mid-afternoon, covered in each other's sweat. You made me feel beautiful and appreciated. You made me feel understood and seen. It was effortless. All of it.
We stopped seeing each other because we got drugged at a party, and you accidentally came out as trans before you were ready. When you sobered up and realized what happened, you cut everyone out of your life who witnessed it and pretended it never happened. You were scared. You were embarrassed. I don't blame you for it.
It's been almost six months since you told me you were going in for surgery. I know the chances weren't good. You told me you would call when you recovered... but I haven't gotten a message since. I don't know your friends or family. You're not on social media.