To answer

You cannot ask me about love in the context of presence. Love, after the amount of time that we’ve had, is not anymore about being there or not being there. We have experienced knowing, realizing, knowing some more, breaking apart, putting back together, newness, familiarity, hurt, pain, thrill, silence, calmness, joy, anger, fear, frustration, trust, distrust, humility, pride, glory, and a million other things in the quest to answer: is this love, here? In the end, the answer was that love as itself was not an independent thread that connected your body to mine. Love stretched itself out between all those months and days and miles and went inside us, with every inhale, dissolving into our bodies, running through our veins. Even if you had asked three years ago, when things were much better, if you had asked, and if we had cared to look, you wouldn’t see love with your naked eyes. We were just sure that it happened, and it once existed solidly, and that it changed us both drastically. I guess, in a way, it will always be there, like a childhood scar, like the shape of your nose, like the way my fingernails will grow. But you cannot ask me simply now if it’s still there, like something I can take out my pocket to prove that, here, you see, shiny and smooth. Nothing is wrong. I will fumble and peek and probe and wipe and I won’t be able to produce a thing. But look at me, hold me, and it’s there. It’s who I am now, loving you and being loved. And I presume it must be the same with you. So I question the presumption that this love is an anchor that moors us to each other. I can walk away now, and it will still be there. But its thereness won’t be enough warrant for staying. It will be easy to ignore, like a scar or a nose shape, and even easier to file and shape regularly into a new appearance. #


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