I thought I once hated someone. Paul. For infecting Ben; even though Ben of course took part of the responsibility for it happening. He’d even forgiven Paul for it.

But it still didn’t change my feelings. When Paul died I hated him for making Ben think life wasn’t worth fighting for, for turning to steroids instead of me, for becoming someone I didn’t know any more, someone who scared me at times with his mood swings and lack of affection.

When I’d seen Paul around Liberty Avenue I’d wanted to grab hold of him and tell him how I felt, how one moment of carelessness had caused this disease to be part of Ben’s and my life. How every morning when I opened the bathroom cabinet my first sight was of row after row of bottles filled with pills that Ben needed to swallow every day to help him stay alive. How every time we made love Ben worried he may infect me.

But then I thought of other things that had come from it. The way Ben had found inner peace through his yoga and meditation, the way he understood Hunter and the bond they shared through their blood.

I still remember when we walked through the park and he told me that his mantra was to stop regretting the past and fearing the future and just live in the now. I don’t think I could have loved him more than when he said those words. Even though he had this disease it didn’t stop him making the most of every day, never wasting a moment on the what ifs and maybes.

Over the years my feelings of hate towards Paul had faded to acceptance that he had been part of Ben’s life, had in some ways made Ben the person he now was. I had never known Ben any other way than the way he is now, positive, and even if I had, I know I wouldn’t have loved him any differently to the way I do now. He is and always will be my forever love and I will love him until the day I die.