Never Like a Question Mark

When he says he’s been thinking about it for the past two weeks, I understand the seeds of my recent insomnia. It doesn’t matter how far our eyes blow like leaves in the wind, how our arms branch out for others, whose kisses we let pollinate our lips, because my roots are still entwined with his.

I love him like the point where the ocean meets the horizon. God, I don’t know why, but I love him in such an unflinching way. Without fireworks or roller-coasters. No fairy-floss expectations or prize-winning promises. There are popcorn fights and elephantine fears, but no ring-master gestures or somersaulting consistency.

I love him quietly. The way rain kisses a window. Like a lost ribbon in the breeze. The way tea keeps spinning after the spoon. I love him opaquely, the way I love ice-cream or avocados. I love him like a full-stop (sometimes like an exclamation point, but never like a question mark).

God, I don’t know why, but I love him. Even though it’s been 109 days. Even though he’s broken my heart twice. Even if he doesn’t love me anymore. I love his stupid, noble soul and I’m scared of how long it will take me until I don’t.

 

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