"Sometimes Love Grows Weary of Noise.

"Sometimes Love Grows Weary of Noise"

He Was Upset With Me!

He was upset with me. I had my head resting on his lap. I didn't know when his annoyance had formed or when resentment had settled in. As usual, I sought comfort by drawing close to him every day, laying my head on his shoulder as if to leave the world's noise behind. But that day his silence felt different - there was a pause in his breathing, an unfamiliar stillness in his eyes.

I asked softly, "You're not upset with me, are you?"

For a moment the room held its breath. He flinched slightly, as if a spark had been lit inside him. He remained quiet, and the fingers tangled in my hair stilled for an instant. My heartbeat matched the slowed motion of his hand.

I asked again, "Are you mad at me? Why are you letting me rest my head in your lap if you are? If you are upset, why show such tenderness?"

He could not manage a smile, but his face softened, as though he wanted to speak and words failed him. Slowly, he said, "Do you think I'm angry with you? I am only quiet. Sometimes love grows weary of noise."

I looked straight into his eyes - he wasn't angry, he carried a burden in a corner of his heart. My carelessness, my unthinking words, my little thoughtless acts must have pricked him. I had always believed he simply tolerated me, but I realized he had been trying to understand me every day.

Tears welled up. I took his hand and said, "If anything I've said has hurt you, why didn't you tell me? I would change at your sign."

A faint smile broke across his face, like a load shifting. He said gently, "Love is not always explained by words. I wanted you to understand without me saying it outright. Sometimes silence is its own kind of speech."

Tears slid down my cheeks onto his palm. He cupped my face with such tenderness that my spirit seemed to be awakened anew.

"Then you aren't upset?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I could never truly be angry with you. I only wanted to remind you - gently - that I love you. I wanted you to feel it. My silence was only a way of making you notice that my love is there, steady."

I rested my head against his chest, my eyes closed, and the room filled only with the sound of hearts beating. Outside, the moon scattered silver light across the world; inside, a new calm spread through me.

His fingers threaded through my hair. "Sometimes a touch says what words cannot," he murmured. "I wanted to tell you with my hands. If I didn't stroke your hair, if I didn't keep you close, would my day feel whole?"

Smiling, I said, "Then don't ever do that again. I can't bear your silence."

He laughed quietly, and the old warmth that used to soothe my soul returned in his laugh.

I understood then that he wasn't upset - he only wanted us to feel love in a different way. I placed my head back against him and whispered, "Don't be silent again. I sleep to the sound of your voice."

"If you remain in my arms like this," he said, "I will have no need to be angry. My love hides in your peace, and your peace hides in my arms."

I smiled and closed my eyes. For a moment the world stood still - no complaints remained, no anger. Only the complete feeling that he was with me, and that was enough.

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