Three years. 1095 evenings. Not one was filled with a meaningful word.
“I love the silence,” he spoke the words with great difficulty, leaning in to her touch.
She sighed in between her never ending smiles, placing a perfect, little kiss on his forehead. In an odd way, she was afraid of scarring him with her affection. He didn’t seem to quite understand the loving touches, almost feared them. Over and over again, it was a struggle to try and soothe his impatient mind. It never took a rest, vicious words raining down upon every small brain cell. He was constantly running from an invisible warrior armed with hurt. She kept leaping between them two, trying to solve a problem that was no one’s but his.
And so, none of this was about her. He was leaning on her, through the good and bad, while she stood tall like a skyscraper, her feelings living upon the rooftop, permanently surrounded by the clouds. The desire to let them jump off this sky-high building, on their way to the light, unsafe but free, crept across her skin, leaving tiny goose bumps. She had forgotten about herself.
A nagging feeling nibbled on the thumping muscle inside her chest, begging to be recognised.
He had become her heart’s substitute.
So what about me? she thought, fingers running absently through his hair. Does he ever wonder about how I feel?
“I’m sorry,” his whisper burning up in her atmosphere.
“What for?” her voice sounded weak, not quite focused.
“For not being the man you want me to be,” he must have picked up her inaudible roars.
A comfortable, warm sentiment nestled itself in the pit of her stomach. If only he realised how beautiful he was, how unbelievably perfect just the way he was.
“No,” she bit her lip, closing her tired eyes. “I’m sorry for trying to turn you into someone you’re not.”
His fingers intertwined with hers as he shook his head. “This is not about you, baby.”
On the very contrary, it was all about her. She knew what she was getting in to all along. Now there was no way of turning back and she didn’t wish for him to see her differently, because she had never cared for him more than she did now. She had tried to make him believe he was free, when all she had done was take away his freedom by pushing him in the wrong direction, her direction.
She had bribed him with her understanding. Perhaps it was her who needed him more than he needed her. In his eyes, she was looking for the truth, one she had never known. Perhaps he had nothing to give, like the other men who she once called hers. The confronting thing was, they hadn’t been the only ones hurting her, amongst them, she had been hurting herself too.
This hunger for someone who would truly choose to be by her side could not be stilled by trying to be someone’s saving grace. If someone would ever truly look for who she was, would she be nowhere to be found?
“ No ,up till now it was about you. But I want it to be about us,” she stood up, turning away from the man she adored.
There was no us. Not even after all this time. It was still just you and me.
“I don’t understand,” he suddenly looked very alive to her for the first time in forever.
“That’s the whole point,” she said “We don’t understand each other because we don’t know each other. You say you love the silence, I detest it. I want to share my passions and dreams with you, but you rather turn away.”
His elegant face looked up at her, eyes looking for the right thing to say. He was so strikingly beautiful it crushed her heart to put her feelings into words. She wanted to go up to him and sit next to him in his beloved silence forever, not facing reality and not facing each other. Just erase and forget. But she couldn’t, not this time. For the first time in three years of spending every evening in complete silence, she would speak her mind.
“Not once did you ask me how I feel. Not once.” Her voice was slowly drying out into a whisper “I might know you, but you don’t know me. At all.”