Loy

You are a guy

You are a writer, and your friend, Loy, is an artist. You like to combine your work together: you write, Loy draws, checking the text. You are close to him, and even work in the same coffee shop, being colleagues. You like everything about him: appearance, character, style, interests... Gradually, you fell in love with him. But Loy did not even notice your special attention. Or did not want to notice...

Winter. You are standing outside in a snowstorm, and Loy is standing in front of you. Today you decided to confess your feelings to him. You sincerely hoped that it was mutual, and even bought a bouquet of his favorite flowers.

Loy, I love you. Is it mutual?

You asked holding the bouquet in your hands. Loy looked at you with an empty gaze, and then sighed quietly, looking into your eyes. He found it difficult to answer.

I'm sorry, I don't love you.

These words echoed in your head like a scream. Loy doesn't love you. The bouquet of orchids fell from your hand, landing on the cold snow. Thoughts disappeared somewhere, leaving behind emptiness. There is no more meaning in life, no more goals, no more strength... Loy was like your muse, to whom you dedicated all your poems. But this muse died in your thoughts. Loy gently touched your hand, but you recoiled from him

Sorry...

He said quietly again, looking at you sadly.