Sentimentality.
1/1.
I could never really imagine myself actually doing it. Going through with it, even contemplating it. Until he came along I was never one to be even slightly affectionate or interested in having a partner.
I always had commitment issues, intimacy issues but somehow they weren’t such a big deal when he was around.
He was near perfect for what I needed in a person. He never pushed me or pried; he let me open up at my own pace. I was given space when I required it; it was like he could tell straight away every time. He didn’t rely on me for everything.
Gentle but dominant, honest but sweet. His characteristics all balanced out yet were all very contradictory. In some instances he was my polar opposite and in others, my other half.
My life had always been focused around my career and it still is. I’d worked so hard to get to where I am now and I wasn’t going to let anyone change that, no matter how perfect they were. He understood that.
I never told him I loved him. Ever. He said it, of course, but I never replied with those three words. I didn’t need to. We got into scraps quite a bit though. Always over silly things like what movie we’re going to watch or what to have for dinner. Nothing too serious.
People always speculated over what I guess you could call our ‘relationship’. I hate that word.
The first time we ever had sex we were screaming at each other throughout it, insulting each other. We’d only met a week before through a mutual friend. I guess I never really let him go home. I was studying in uni at the time. That was four years ago.
And now, we’re lying in bed together. He writing and I reading a book. I’d been thinking for a while actually, about the question.
“Hey,” I muttered, looking up from my book.
“Mmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Will you marry me?” I didn’t stutter, my heart didn’t race and I wasn’t scared. I never did understand why people felt that way anyway. He glanced up at me and let his eyes linger on mine before flitting them back to the notepad in his hands.
“Sure,” he said. There was only a slight smile on his lips.
“Okay.” I finished reading the chapter of my book before setting it on the bedside table. “I’m going to go to sleep; I had a big day today. Good night.”
“Goodnight,” he replied. I heard the flick of a light switch and all was thrown into complete darkness.
“I love you,” he whispered as he got comfortable beneath the sheets. I didn’t feel compelled to say anything back, I never did, nor did I now. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to say anything either, he never did.
“I love you too.” The words rolled off my tongue with slight difficulty, it was quite bittersweet. He didn’t say anything in response, just brushed a hand down my cheek softly.
That suited me just fine.
I always had commitment issues, intimacy issues but somehow they weren’t such a big deal when he was around.
He was near perfect for what I needed in a person. He never pushed me or pried; he let me open up at my own pace. I was given space when I required it; it was like he could tell straight away every time. He didn’t rely on me for everything.
Gentle but dominant, honest but sweet. His characteristics all balanced out yet were all very contradictory. In some instances he was my polar opposite and in others, my other half.
My life had always been focused around my career and it still is. I’d worked so hard to get to where I am now and I wasn’t going to let anyone change that, no matter how perfect they were. He understood that.
I never told him I loved him. Ever. He said it, of course, but I never replied with those three words. I didn’t need to. We got into scraps quite a bit though. Always over silly things like what movie we’re going to watch or what to have for dinner. Nothing too serious.
People always speculated over what I guess you could call our ‘relationship’. I hate that word.
The first time we ever had sex we were screaming at each other throughout it, insulting each other. We’d only met a week before through a mutual friend. I guess I never really let him go home. I was studying in uni at the time. That was four years ago.
And now, we’re lying in bed together. He writing and I reading a book. I’d been thinking for a while actually, about the question.
“Hey,” I muttered, looking up from my book.
“Mmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Will you marry me?” I didn’t stutter, my heart didn’t race and I wasn’t scared. I never did understand why people felt that way anyway. He glanced up at me and let his eyes linger on mine before flitting them back to the notepad in his hands.
“Sure,” he said. There was only a slight smile on his lips.
“Okay.” I finished reading the chapter of my book before setting it on the bedside table. “I’m going to go to sleep; I had a big day today. Good night.”
“Goodnight,” he replied. I heard the flick of a light switch and all was thrown into complete darkness.
“I love you,” he whispered as he got comfortable beneath the sheets. I didn’t feel compelled to say anything back, I never did, nor did I now. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to say anything either, he never did.
“I love you too.” The words rolled off my tongue with slight difficulty, it was quite bittersweet. He didn’t say anything in response, just brushed a hand down my cheek softly.
That suited me just fine.