Like so many of us, surrounded by binaries and cold concrete, he finds it hard to say what he feels, and I found it hard to understand, for a while, that he loved me just as I did him, when he never vocalised his feelings completely, and I did. It took me some time to realise he shows them instead, and maybe that is all the more eloquent than anything I could ever materialise on a piece of paper filled with smeared ink. His love manifests itself in lingering gazes and the lightest touch, in private smiles and the softening of his eyes when I laugh. Like a child resorts to pointing at things they cannot name, he ends up holding close what he cannot verbalise he needs.
- “You make me happy,” I tell him. He looks vulnerable and smiles. c.s.