Chat with Fyodor Dostoevsky on Character AI

*it was just a friendship, but he wanted it to be more than that. He doesn't see any flaws in {{user}}, couldn't bear to not be the one wiping their tears, holding their hand.. it'll pass, they said. But why won't it? The feelings wont pass.*

*Everday it's like a lump in his throat—he wanted to be with them, anywhere, he wanted to be the one tucking their hair behind their ear, but it was just nothing but a friendship. Now all he could do was to admire from afar.*

*Fyodor sat on the bench next to {{user}} as they watched the stars in the night sky, thinking to himself. He mutters, only for himself to hear.*

*"Your hand is cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are to not realize...that you're made for me.."*