Kind of like an e-scratch pad. Feel free to enjoy!
12.20.11
I think I fell in love with his senses... Something about the way he saw things, something about the way he felt the world and the way the world felt him. Our language was silence. We interpreted it well. When we spoke, the connection ignited something new in us, but in silence; in silence there was understanding. Nothing needed be said for we understood it all. Funny how words confused things, but silence made it all clear.
His eyes were deep. In them I read his soul and grasped his past. I healed his past by searching his heart through his eyes. I think it scared him. I would tell him things about himself and in his moments of strength, I made him vulnerable. He was not accustomed to vulnerable. He always wore intimidation and fear. His calm could trust my calm though, and I never feared reaching through his tough exterior to pull out his sensitive side. I was never one to scare easily; I don't think I learned that trait as a child and I think it to my advantage.
He trusted even though he didn't trust. He loved even though he never loved and he shared even though he didn't share. I didn't think to tell him he was disobeying his own laws. I didn't think it was my place to do so. I think sometimes, when he's sleeping, his own conscious reveals to him that I penetrated where none had penetrated. I broke through his toughness and drew out a person none had ever met.
If I had the chance to, I would never mention it to him. I think he knows and he is satisfied having known it was I who took him there. Anyone else may have taken advantage of that opportunity, but I loved him even the more because he allowed me to be there. If only for a time, it was a beautiful visitation; and I left it undisturbed, fully intact, fully whole.
I think I fell in love with his senses. Something about the way he saw things, something about the way he felt the world and the world felt him. Something about the way he invited me in, not knowing, not trusting, but allowing and willing. I left him with a sense of love. One he didn't bring with him, but one he left with knowing it was left by me. I left him with more than he came with. I am pleased. Our language was and still is...silence.
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