It was in our downtime, I asked, “Why me? I don’t have everything.”
He sat with his typewriter and a paper on a table, right in front of me.
I saw his head look up, quite slowly.
“Who wouldn’t be swept off her feet to have someone
who only plays words and not feelings?”
“…someone who keeps me like a thought she’s been meaning to say.”
“…someone who warms with the right lines weaves just through her mind.”
“…someone who brings me to places only our minds could go to.
Love, it’d be truly a lifelong legacy to spend my life and seize my days
with someone who does things that outlive us and this universe of ours.”
My question was catapulted with earnestness,
that compelled through when the silence ensued.
And then, all at once, I’m bereft of words.
I saw his head sink, centred to focus on his work,
trying hard not to put on any tinge of emotion.
I bowed my head instead, with an angle just enough to sneak a peek at him.
I could see through his hair, the rose-coloured flush on his cheeks.
My insides all simmered in the warmth.
I reckoned and even more, appreciated, how encompassing and beautiful
it was to have someone who is in love with you, beyond your covers.
Someone who is in love with your mind.
