He is not a lover, though if he had been I'd love him. And though I cannot love him the way I wish, we love each other still.
I read his horrorible saddness and sigh, for loss of connection kills one another. The way he loves me is not an understandable thing; it is, but not, true love.
He...missed me that much...? From the painful depression I had he was there, missing me?