Last night

Dinner with Mario was... difficult.

He cooked pasta, which was slightly burnt but edible. We drank too much wine. We talked about nothing important.

At the end of the night, he hugged me and said, "I'm going to miss you. I don't say it enough, but you're my best friend."

I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to say, "I love you in a way that is not friendship and never has been, and that's why I have to leave."

Instead I said, "I'll miss you too," and I meant it in a way that was so much deeper than what the words could actually convey.

Tomorrow I leave for New York. I'm taking a lot of clothes and a vague plan to "figure things out."

What I'm really doing is running away.

But at least I'm being honest with myself about it.