Body Language

I won’t say your name—doing so feels like breaking a pact we never quite formalized. Even back then, I deliberately withheld your name in an attempt to keep things indistinct. But time has a way of clarifying what’s important, and this unresolved conversation we never had still occupies my thoughts. Interestingly, it’s a dialogue that has been silently evolving between us over the years, although its final chapter remains unwritten.

I think back to our senior year, sitting in that empty auditorium, your body only partially leaning into mine. It was in this shared moment of silence that we unwittingly initiated the emotional conversation that would continue to unfold in the background of my life for years to come. I’ve always been more of a listener than a talker—a quality that seems to have faded from my character over time, yet one that served me well in our nuanced interactions.

We found common ground in our shared commitment to honesty, a disdain for false pretenses and broken promises. That’s when it hit me—the romance novels I had read over the years were not entirely flights of fancy. They spoke of a fundamental truth: your soulmate, or at least someone incredibly significant, is not someone to simply let pass by. This notion brought gravity to the words that remained unspoken between us, filling the silence with a chorus of ‘what-ifs.’

I’m revisiting this now to express gratitude for the silent but profound impact you’ve had on me. Cutting to the heart of the story, let’s start in media res, as all gripping tales should. After a cathartic release of years-long tension, I found myself at a crossroads. Although our minds were attuned, reality suddenly asserted itself, pulling us back from the brink. I remember the sadness in your eyes, a complexity of emotion that seemed to say it wasn’t just about me, but something deeper, something more existentially disappointing.

We had initially met four years before you disappeared, making room for new connections and personal transformations. By the time I noticed your return, my life had drastically changed. Yet you remained an enigmatic presence, a woman who had captivated my thoughts more than my gaze. I yearned for someone who could match my intensity, not with repulsion, but with purpose. And you did.

Your candid words, “I really liked you, and if I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, I could see being happy with you,” jarred me. They made me reflect on my happiness and on what I could potentially offer someone else. As a result, when I entered college and met my future wife, I made a conscious effort to be more aware, more authentic. This led me to accept my polyamorous and asexual nature and, more significantly, to recognize my capability for genuine love.

So, here I am, years later, saying what I couldn’t articulate then: I love you, platonically of course. I love you because you brought me to her. I have reached a state of contentment and self-understanding, thanks in part to the silent dialogue that has been ongoing between us. It has steered me toward a deeper self-awareness, and for that, I am eternally grateful.