It’s better to die. You’re going to die anyway. Have you met people who can’t help but speak? Everyone knows someone like that, and we all know how badly we wish we didn’t. It’s inauthentic. If they write you ten sonnets, they love you; if they write you three hundred sonnets, they love writing sonnets.
Have you met someone who never speaks? They walk on the edge of safety and danger, perpetually flirting with this and that. Somewhere between speaking and dying- that’s a true romantic. People who speak in code. You never know; they’ll never confirm. A lifelong game of conquest, a door that leads to stairs, and stairs that go up, then down, and back to the same spot again. A box within a box, and if you look closely inside, you fall again into the trap of their uncertainty. That uncertainty is the only certainty about them. Words push you away while their eyes call you closer. Black and white. Cardboard under dusty clouds.
Romance in care and unspoken words is love that doesn’t ask to be recognized or witnessed- just felt. What else is God, if not unspoken?
Ashlandsblog 
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