The Quiet
I had always thought of love previously like a flame. Bright, desperate, passionate and yet so fleeting. If unrequited, it lingered onwards, slowly melting and fading. If returned, love was suffosed with oxygen, it was feed and it would grow and then perhaps turn inwards, destructive.
I’ve always searched for the hopeless. The sense of upcoming tragedy. The self sabotage. The endless longing for something, someone. The destructive arguments that lead to cold cold silence and the overwhelming distance. The inevitable chasm of misunderstandings.
I am a storm. Impetuous. Impulsive. Intense. I dream of the future. I plan and hope in my mind, exploring possibilities so far off into the distance that others think I am detached from the present. But this brings me despair. I feel that I am trapped by my nature. That I am always seeking yet never able to bring anything into fruition.
For me, love had been painful. Passionate. And so very hopeless.
But he is like the still waters of a deep serene lake. He is calm, placid, never angered. Sweet. Gentle. Realiable. All the qualities I once spurned as too meek. He brings with him a sense of contentment that I have never felt before.
There is no incessant need to provoke. No need to elicit an equally passionate response through pointless arguments. There is only sweet serenity, deep affection and the frequent surging moments of tenderness.
I feel at home with him.
