It was the glance I think, which summarized our relationship. Half-imploring, and remarkably opposed to the seemingly cool and confident words coming out of your mouth. And I realized how to say what needs to be said can sometimes be the most impossible thing in the world. To say the words directly requires the acceptance of responsibility, and the idea that one is responsible for the truths one speaks can be daunting. It requires one to be sincere, and in some instances, to be vulnerable. And who wants to be vulnerable? It just opens you up to pain. So we spoke in a language that operated in two spheres: "How was your day? The food is lovely," to mask the words we refuse to speak aloud, but which we also hope would be understood. (I love you. Never leave me.)
We spoke in riddles to disconnect meaning from our mouths, instead hoping for a relationship that transcended language, that transcended spirit, that transcended us.