Whispers
He whispers “I love you.”
Not to focus on how he verbalizes it; that is inconsequential. But more of how he lives this love of yours.
When you first think of a whisper, you imagine that it is intimate and spoken close to your ear. It is a breath on your earlobe… a feeling shared only for you to hear. From his heart, transferred from his beautiful lips, lingering on your earlobe then absorbed into your bloodstream. Slowly pumping through your system into your heart… just to be recycled and blurted back out, tumble off your tongue and back to his soul directly.
Such a romanticized notion, right? It gives me chills just to imagine it.
Photographer: Billy Heigl
It is a beautiful thought, and while that may be true, that is not what I mean by how he whispers your love. When you think of a whisper in another context, it is something not meant to be heard. What you are whispering is… a secret.
God forbid it ever gets out *gasp*. The scandal that would ensue!
That is the life of love you are living.
When you love, you want to scream it from the highest mountain, with all of your heart at the top of your lungs. You want the world to know. There is no hiding it. It is evident. You do not mind it being known. You prefer for the world to know. You stake your claim.
Profess it. Proclaim it. Own that bitch […the feeling, not your loved one].
Nothing is more gut-wrenching and heart-churning than keeping in feelings that you are dying to share.
Photographer: Bill Heigl
I lied. You want to know what hurts more than stifling your own emotions? Watching the one you love – the object of your adoration – lock up their feelings for you in an air tight, water proof, indestructible little black box that he stores in his fucking attic. Out of sight, out of mind, until you are in the confines of your own private space, where it is okay to temporarily unlock, unload and share.
It is a dagger straight to the heart listening to him tell you how he is no good for anyone, yet someone is out there flaunting his love like a hard-earned badge of honor. All while you sit in the audience and watch their story unfold. So, while their fairy tale is being read aloud to anyone with listening ears, you continue to whisper behind closed doors. With hushed tones and careful actions. You continue.
But… you are constantly wondering:
When will we finally stop whispering?
When will I lose my mind and scream?
Here is scary thought: one day will he just be silent?
Is a whisper all that bad when compared to nothing being said at all?
You tell me… I am listening.
