This next post is a sequel to this one.
Twenty years ago you never would have seen a note like this. I never would have allowed you inside my head or my heart. Twenty years ago you would have screamed at me in frustration and asked why I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, wondered why I wouldn’t share my thoughts with you. And then you would have looked at me expecting an answer and received a smile and silence.
It would have tested your patience. For a while you would have hung around believing that if you gave me enough time I would learn to trust you enough to let you in. Chances are there would have been a few moments where hints of that which I held back came out. Little glimmers of hope would have made you think that it would happen.
But it wouldn’t have. Not for lack of effort or desire but because I didn’t know how to say those things you wanted to hear. They lay inside locked up in places I had trouble accessing. And truthfully I didn’t want to find the keys to those doors. It was fine to keep that untouched.
Eventually you would have given up and left. I would miss you but never say a word. It was easier that way.
Time would pass and we’d connect. We’d find each other and learn that timing really is everything. Unexpected and unsought for love would sweep us away. Under the craziest of conditions we’d fall harder and faster than ever before.
Alone at the keyboard I type and retype that last paragraph trying hard to avoid trite expressions. Unhappy with the thought that someone would read it and think of cliches and bad sitcoms. Because it was none of those things. It was real. It was the most real thing we ever experienced in a relationship.