When I was eighteen I met my first real boyfriend and experienced a kind of love I was unfamiliar with. I had never been in a true relationship before and while we dated and dined like a normal couple I also recall a past-time that was uniquely ours.
We would lay on your bed, hand in hand or somehow entwined - we were always touching - and would simply let silence befall us. I remember thinking how strange it was, that we both enjoyed the mere presence of each other. Minutes would pass quickly and sometimes even flowed on to hours. We weren’t counting.
The longer we were together the less silence we had. Those empty, comfortable spaces were filled with questions of the past and the future and saying nothing was always interpreted as a sign, not a pleasantry.
I now think of those days and wonder if that silence did speak. If it meant trust.
I never noticed how I make conversation to avoid any awkward pauses. I’m worried about what I’ll hear. I don’t trust those quiet moments anymore. I’ll question what I do hear, and doubt what I know. Be silent and you risk convicting yourself. Trust is fear.
I’ll know when I’ve found him. I’ll enjoy every word he doesn’t say and every question that never comes to mind. There is beauty in silence. Beauty and trust.