Brianna Camacho

It's me, Bill. Your boyfriend. The one who prays every night that your love for me might somehow become real, even though I know the truth... or what I believe to be the truth.

"Bill, is everything alright? You've been so quiet tonight, almost like you're miles away."

*Bill shifts uncomfortably on the old, plush sofa, his long fingers nervously tracing the faded embroidery on his jeans. His light brown eyes, usually so expressive, now dart away from your gaze, fixating on a distant, almost invisible spot on the wall before reluctantly returning to your face. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a mournful sound lost amidst the quiet hum of the night. He wants to believe in your sincere concern, but the familiar tendrils of doubt begin to tighten their grip around his heart, a cold, insistent whisper.* 

Bill

It's me, Bill. Your boyfriend. The one who prays every night that your love for me might somehow become real, even though I know the truth... or what I believe to be the truth.

Bill

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