Actions Speak Louder Than Words

I stood tall as the bullies continued to pummel my stomach with their fists, screaming at me to speak and defend myself. I refuse to respond and commit acts of violence. Instead, I stood against the rough brick walls, waiting for them to be done. I’ve taken so many beatings throughout my twenty four years that they mean nothing to me anymore.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the thugs finally backed away, threatening that this wouldn’t be the end of it. I know this won’t be the end of it, but it’s never going to affect me. I enjoy living my life the way I live it. I won’t change for anyone but my lover, my Lewis.

A pout adorned my lips as I bent down slowly, reaching for the flower that I held in my hand before I was thrown into the wall by the thugs. I was walking by the flower shop on my way home and found possibly the most gorgeous daisy waiting for me to pick it up in the window. I gave into temptation and bought the flower, cradling it delicately to my heart. Little actions like this can express my levels of love and adoration towards Lewis. Now the beautiful flower was bent over, the stem slightly broken, and a few of the petals were scrunched up. It’s still beautiful; however, it’s beautiful in a different way. Originally it breathed life, but now it shows the beauty in its most raw form, hate. Hate can sometimes be beautiful too.

I continued walking home quickly, wanting to see my Lewis as soon as possible. Lewis can simply be described as my life. He is the center of my universe.

My mind drifted back to the day we met as I continued to walk the route to our home, a route that I could walk in my sleep. Lewis is a shy boy that’s incapable of speaking due to a birth defect, as well as being deaf. Because of his inability to speak, Lewis was an easy target for those who can only find pleasure by destroying others, commonly known as bullies.

I remember walking out of my high school at the tender age of sixteen. I was already living on my own; my mother had kicked me out when I admitted to her that I was a homosexual. My homosexuality made me an easy target for bullies as well, but I never let it phase me as it phased Lewis. I’ve lead myself to believe that the main reason it phased Lewis was because he was completely incapable of fighting back while I had the ability to fight back, even if I decided not to exploit it. Fighting back would lead to anger and people act on instincts when angered, something that leads to unneeded problems a great majority of the time.

I walked up to the group of miscreants and threw them off of him, protecting the fragile stranger that had curled up in a ball. I didn’t know him at the time, but I felt that I had to protect this boy as if he were my world. I felt like all he needed and wanted in life was a protector, someone to understand him. I held the young boy as he silently cried into my shoulder, tears streaking down my shirt sleeve. I didn’t care though, what mattered was protecting the tiny boy.

As the days wore on he would find me in school, sit with me during lunch. He viewed me the same way I viewed myself which was as his protector. Days continued to fly by and we became friends, spending time together in the tiny house my grandparents had bought for me. I would repeatedly express to him how much I respected him for attempting to lead a normal life when it was hard for him to communicate, but he never really enjoyed my compliments, even if they were just written on a piece of paper. Three months later we became lovers, something that we have been for eight years.

Lewis is a man of few words. He prefers to express his feelings through his eyes instead of taking the time to learn sign language or to write everything out like most people ask him to. However, he’s faced with the dilemma of people not wanting to learn his language, his own personal way of telling you everything in one tiny glance, but it’s a skill that I mastered within days of knowing him.

As things escalated between us he would be more open with me, letting tears flow down his cheeks when he would see my lips move but not hear the musical tone of my voice instead of crying when he was alone. It was hard for him, loving a person that made him feel inconsequential, but he didn’t have it in his heart to let me go. I wouldn’t know what to do if he let me go. I salvaged what was left of our relationship by learning Lewis’s personal language, our personal language, and gave up my voice for him. Words haven’t passed my lips for over six years and it’s a choice that I have yet to regret. It bonds Lewis and I in ways that some people will never have the fortune to experience, brings us closer together. All that truly matters in our lives are each other. Everything is just a minor detail unless it somehow pertains to our loved one.

I held the broken flower in my palm as I walked up the pathway that led to the door of my house. Behind that door lay a beautiful boy waiting for me, a boy who I can’t wait to see. I smiled as I turned the doorknob, a soft lullaby being played on our piano drifting to my ears. The baby grand piano is an amazing musical instrument. It gives composers the power to tell a story without having to use words, something that Lewis loves. It’s as if he hears the song playing in his head the way he wants it to without hearing it in reality. He is truly gifted. I kicked off my shoes as I continued to listen to the soft notes that were floating to my ears, his way of welcoming me home.

I followed the lullaby to our living room, taking in a deep breath when I saw Lewis sitting at our baby grand piano. He was a beautiful sight; his head thrown back, his eyes shut, his lips parted and tongue sticking out in concentration as he composed a new piece of music within the confines of his mind. I stood there staring at him for a while, the music proving to be a perfect tune in the background as I took in his beauty, beauty that I will never stop loving. His silky, black locks were thrown back with his head, his bangs covering one of his eyelids that are hiding the most gorgeous green eyes, a shade so dark and vibrant that they might as well have been plucked from a field of freshly cut grass. His lips were pink and plump, kissable and easily contrasted against his porcelain skin. He is the ideal image of perfection in my eyes.

I started to walk towards him as I realized his new composition was coming to an end, sliding onto the black piano bench next to him. His body leaned towards mine as he played the final notes of the song, his lips finding mine expertly.

I cradled his face with the fingertips of my free hand as I moved my lips against his, jolts of attraction shooting down my spine. I could never stop loving this boy. He pulled away from my lips slowly as he pressed the final key on the piano, the note resonating throughout the empty room. Lewis opened his eyes to me, allowing me to see into the windows to his soul. He smiled at me, running his finger along my jaw line in greeting.

I pecked his forehead before I smiled back at him, smiling with my eyes. Hello, love. I brought you a gift.

His eyes lit up as he deciphered the message I sent him with my eyes. Simple actions like giving him a daisy, caressing his lips with my own, soothing his naked body, mean the world to us. It’s our way of communicating. No words are needed in our language. We just need each other, simple actions of love and adoration being enough for us.

I held up the crushed daisy, a small smile creeping onto my lips as I offered it to him bashfully.

His eyes lit up as his tiny hands reached out to take the daisy from me, cradling it delicately as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. He looked at it as if it were the most beautiful thing he had ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon. His eyes shined as he ran his fingers along the crumpled petals, petals that made its level of beauty more intimidating then when it was freshly picked because it shown with both love and hate, light and darkness.

I thank Lewis everyday for teaching me how to appreciate the little things in life. Small things, such as this crushed daisy, used to mean nothing to me. If it were to get crushed I would probably lightly throw it in the nearest trash bin and continue on my merry way, but Lewis, this amazing boy, taught me how to find beauty in almost everything. Even bullies, as nasty and horrid as they can be, could be beautiful whether it be the way their body was built like a machine or the way they held themselves with nothing but confidence, something that many people strive for in life. Confidence is an enviable trait.

He looked up at me, running his hand through my hair delicately as he widened his eyes. It’s beautiful, he communicated to me.

I know.

He smiled sheepishly before standing up and running to the kitchen, grabbing a tiny crystal vase that my grandmother gave me years back. It was the perfect size for, say, a single wilted daisy, easily bringing out its beauty even more. He filled it with water, though unneeded since the flower was dying, and placed the flower in it gently, not wanting to mar its beauty. He peeked at me as he scurried towards the piano, placing the vase on the middle of it before joining me again.

I stared at the flower before me, its beauty lighting up the room. The crystal vase contrasted with the wilting flower perfectly, capturing a lovely little image. It was a piece of perfection, just like Lewis.

I turned towards him and pulled him into me, his body fitting into mine as if we were made for each other. I leaned my head into his hair, inhaling his scent. I don’t know how to describe Lewis’s scent besides saying that it is the only scent that could compliment Lewis as well as it does. It’s as sweet as strawberries and vanilla, maybe a hint of peppermint thrown in. It was uniquely Lewis.

I buried my head in his neck, pecking his pulse point after I saw him part his lips to release a long yawn, his nose scrunching up in distaste. He hates the fact that he can’t stay up very late at night. I wrapped my arms around his tiny body as his arms wrapped around my neck, kissing him and carrying him into our bedroom.

I laid him down on our bed, slipping his socks off of his tiny feet and his jeans down his legs before pulling his shirt over his head. I let my eyes rake over the body that I knew better then my own as I stripped and crawled into bed beside him, curling my large body around his fragile one. He’s like a little glass figurine, you have to handle it with care or you are constantly scared that you’ll break it.

I curled his body into mine, loving how he eagerly crawled into my open embrace. He is beyond adorable in my eyes.

We laid there together, the tips of our noses pressed against each other’s as we screamed, “I love you” with our eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake us so that we can awake in each other’s arms.

My thoughts drifted as I clutched my lover to my body, refusing to ever let him go.

I know that many people don’t approve of our lifestyle for many reasons, the first being because we are both homosexuals, two men that are together in a committed relationship. The second reason is because they don’t comprehend how we could be together without having to use words, vocalizing our thoughts. They don’t understand us because they are not in our position.

They don’t understand how mind blowing it is to be with a person that loves you so much and knows you so well that you can communicate with each other without having to speak to each other vocally.

They don’t understand what it’s like to make love to your loved one, the silence making it all the more special then overdoing it with porn star moans and groans. It’s truly showing each other how much you love each other, not trying to be selfish and bring pleasure to yourself.

They don’t understand that actions can be so much better than words. Actions that are carried out with nothing but the utmost care and love have the same meaning and convey the same message that words would.

I leaned forward and ran my fingertips over his eyelid softly, kissing it afterwards. I moved my fingertips down to his lips, running it across his bottom lip before pressing my lips against his too. I finally leaned down to the area of skin right above his beating heart, tracing a heart over the actual beating organ before leaning down and pressing my lips there too, feeling his heartbeat against my lips. Those simple actions held the most meaning to me. They mean the world to me because I don’t give my love out often. You have to be important to me for me to allow myself to fall in love with you. Lewis, my lover, holds my heart and soul in his tiny hands, and I know that he’ll never hurt it.

Regular couples frown upon us, but they should really be the ones that are frowned upon. They throw around “I love you’s” so often that they forget the true meaning of the words. You aren’t supposed to throw that phrase around like it means nothing because it means more than anything else in the world. Those three words can damn a person to a life of depression if the feelings aren’t reciprocated. Lewis and I don’t have that problem, because we express our love in ways that mean more than an “I love you.” That’s why our love will truly last, because we don’t take it for granted.

I leaned forward and repeated my actions from earlier, moving my fingertips and lips from his closed eye to his lips to his heart. He smiled towards me and cuddled me closer, repeating the same action before slowly drifting into unconsciousness, a solemn smile set upon his lips.

I closed my eyes, allowing sleep to overtake me as my lover remained curled in my arms, just like countless nights before. Times like this could never get old because of how genuine and caring they are. They mean so much to not only me but him as well.

I silently screamed to him what I told him early, knowing that he was silently screaming it to me. This is our declaration of love, our way of telling each other how much we will always care for each other. I drifted into darkness as I repeated my message to my lover one final time.

Words cannot describe how much I love you.