He wrote me again. Another flawless, beautifully crafted, imaginative, eloquent, intelligent, spiritual poem. Nothing else. No hi, bye, no i love you (wasn't seriously expecting that one), and no i hate you. It's more emotional than the first. It's a grand accusation, like I poked his raw flesh with a blunt knife. I destroyed his silence apparently, by speaking... but not just speaking, by speaking words he especially didn't want to hear.
I think this is as good a time as any to point out that I never actually said I loved him. I think if anything, I (very indirectly I might add) asked him how he felt?! and he made the assumption that I must love him, if I was asking him how he felt. Yes, yes. I hear you... I know, I do love him. That's irrelevant though. I could go back and forth for days... but fact is I destroyed his silence. His silence. His silence. What about mine? What about the fact that we live in a world that is defined, bordered and ruled by narrow definitions. Black, white, even grey is defined... but not just nothing, just silence?! Surely, that was too much to expect from me?
He has however confirmed what I always suspected. As much as I tried to make this a purely romantic adventure, with some sexy bits, and some serious soul bits, our relationship is not one that can be defined in any man made language. I am not his girlfriend - he has one of those, I'm not his best friend - he has plenty of those, I am not his friend - we're far too close for that, I'm not his enemy- we completely adore each other and after much contemplation - I am certainly not his mistress - I'm too good for it and he's not offering it... I can hear the die-hard "he's just not that into you" fans saying "tut tut", but, I don't care. This is what it is: I am a song, that frequency on his radio. He is my music connoisseur. He doesn't always tune in, but when he does, it's purely, overwhelmingly spiritual.
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