We were in college. He was young; I was older but completely innocent. I knew he wouldn't have minded sleeping with me, but I had no idea he might have actually had feelings for me. I squelched my feelings for him because I was looking for someone churchier. We survived nursing school together, an experience that cements a firm bond. We hung out together too, smoked some pot. I had my first drop of liquor with him. Got more drunk than I've ever been on a bottle of Jim Beam. Puked out the car window, sat in the grass because it felt good. Slept together in his single bed with all our clothes on. He was the first man to hold me, and when I was alone in my own bed I tried to remember how his arms felt. We fit together on the sofa or an armchair. After my breakup, we fooled around. He was pre-Lewis, the only man I could trust. Now he tells me that he wishes we'd become more. But that bittersweet night that we held each other for the last time and I whispered "I love you" he could only say "Thank you." Maybe he didn't hear right.