I don’t remember the last words you said to me, but I remember the feel of you voice vibrating through my bones until they echoed in my strong and beating heart. But I remember you saying that you love me.
Do you know what my love it? I honestly don’t know what you think of me when I tell you I love you. We are so different. You tell me you love me and say I love you with so much honest and candor that when you say it, it cuts into me and leaves the most delicious scar. But you are careful about not saying it too often or two casually.
I tell you I love you all the time, in everything I ever letter I write and send to you and in the text and in emails we share and when we are together. Maybe I say it too often, I don’t know. Maybe I say it so often that it just sounds like some colloquial response that I simply put out there into the world. Maybe you think it’s some kind of device that I use to touch you.
But what it is is a crippling, all-consuming devastating fire that I feed with your memories and with my hope. It is an ever-burning desire within me to connect with you on any level. To simply hear your voice cools and calms it to a manageable but ever unquenchable flame.
Maybe I should tell you all of this when we are face to face over lunch, but I am usually breathless in your presence and so taken that I am as useless as a school boy. But if you listen closely, you will hear me whispering these words to you each night. Or you might hear them ever so faintly at times through the days as my heart calls out to you spurned on by the fires which power it.
If you sit still while you are next to me, you will hear them whispered in your ear as they light your hear t on fire as well. kindling those embers that I so often see glowing within you and that you long to feed. I see them when you reach out to me to touch my hand, or when you walk close to me and as we bump as we walk along and in your flirting and daring glances when you think I am not looking.
So I will say it once again. I love you.