In the silence it’s all too obvious. There’s only noise between us and the quiet. And all these little scrawls that make letters, that turn themselves into words, they are nought but scratching.

Yet still we keep saying I love you. Still we keep making those sounds. We may know it’s folly, just some invention, but how could I not surrender? How could I not bathe in the light?

I decide to love you; and I love that you let me.