1/12/2026 Sequence #10

I remember the last night I knew anything about you. We were playing chess, and I was lost in whatever horrible, overcomplicated plan I had plotted out in my head. I think I had just lost my rook when you looked up to me and asked, as though it were just another move, "Would you love me if I didn't love you?" 

When I answered only by asking what was wrong, you said nothing. You wouldn't meet my gaze.

We continued to play, but the air had thickened. You were sheepish. I felt slapped. 


"I'm sorry," you whispered, leaning towards my desk. 
"It's fine," I responded, not moving my eyes from the whiteboard.
"No, really. I don't know what that was. I felt weird." 

You probably looked remorseful, but I had known you long enough to recognize your "remorse." It was more like loneliness. Usually, I didn't mind it.

"Don't worry about it," I said, praying you'd turn away. 

After a moment, you did.


The third checkmate in a row, all using the same tactic. 

"You good?" You smiled. "Someone's rating is going down." I had chosen ignorance regarding the incident that occurred a few days prior, and you seemed intent on jumping on my apparent lowered guard.
"Ah," I said. "Closer to your rating, then." 

I crossed my arms and let you reset the board.

"What did you mean the other day?" I blurted.

You looked startled, though I knew you understood immediately. 
"Huh?"
"'Would you still love me if I didn't love you?' You know what I mean," I snapped, patience running thin, though the conversation had only just started. 

You looked away. Your eyes were bright, unsettled. You said something defensive, something that hinted at my previously unheard-of wrongdoing. I scoffed and left.


Later that evening, you came by my house uninvited, something neither of us ever did. The moment I opened the door to see your alarmed face, you pushed past me and launched into a breathless apology. You were sorry. You didn't mean anything by it. You shouldn't have said it. 

When you finally sat on my couch and buried your face in your hands, you were crying. 

I then realized that I had not read enough into the question; something was eating you. 

I sat down next to you and carefully rested a hand on your shoulder. You stilled; sobs slowing. After a few minutes, I asked you what was really wrong.

You didn't say anything for a long while, but when you started to speak, I could barely make out your muffled words. 

"I can't do it like you. I'm not even evil, I honestly don't really think anyone is. Just afraid. Like Jesus."

You laughed at your own inane joke, then continued. 

"But, I really can't. You care about me so much, and I just can't muster up a thing for you. Even though I like you more than anyone." 

As you continued to describe your apathetic and incurious affection for me, my heart slowly sank, though I could barely register what was going on. Suddenly, you grabbed me by my shoulders and turned me to face you. You looked into my eyes, intent on getting an answer, though you didn't ask a question. 

"But it doesn't matter at all," you smiled at me, somehow lovingly. "It doesn't change anything."

Looking into your eyes, I felt that I could see your heart. 

It looked more like a shell with enormous wings.