You speak to me and I hear a melody. The melancholy music plays, and you whisper your dreams. The starry night passes by and our love grows stronger by the moment. Your sadness echoes in your words and your voice breaks. You meet my gaze and we stare into each other's eyes. The tears streak your face, making it seem more angular than ever.
I love you.
Half the time, when you speak, I can't hear you. Your voice is so soft that even the slightest sound can muffle it. But the point is that I don't want to. I don't need to. Words. Words, with which you are gifted but which I despise so. Words, unnecessary in the path of love. Words, which could never even begin to describe your beauty, your delicacy, your splendour.
We don't need words, love.
I kiss you in the rain. It feels wonderful, like nothing I could even imagine. The delicate droplets are gentle in their descent and I am so dazed that I don't even really realise that I am wet. You pull back and regard me with a dreamy look and I reach forward, stunned as I feel those telltale scars below your sleeves and on your stomach. But of course I won't tell anyone, darling. It's not like it means anything, anyway.
So I look back into your eyes.
It is a stormy night. We fight. I tell you that I don't care about what you have to say, which is, ultimately, the truth. Confusion fills me, and I wish that it was like before, when we could just sit there without talking and still be content. The complexity of communication irritates me and I just don't want to do so. You sob and threaten to break up, and that is the last straw. I walk out of our flat with remarkable ease, my footsteps echoing down the hallway. I can see the heartbreak in your eyes, but all I see is that you're plain and repulsive.
I guess I don't really love you, then.