You have to say something untrue, or stay there, uttering other words to cover this leaden silence, this emptiness that spans between the two of you.
Or you might not even force yourself. You might be silent; or say the truth. I do not feel like saying I love you back at you at the moment. It does not always mean you do not love that person in general. It just does not feel right to say it right then and there.
That person extends its hand to touch you, longing for proximity, and you shy away, you flee, almost repulsed, or even worse, you tolerate it, there, apathetic, no more interested, no, in fact even less interested in it than if a fly had landed at the same spot. You would swat a fly. But you just endure it, until disenhearted the other person retreats, broken.
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What a wonderful word when you are first falling in love. When you reach with your hand for the person you utered these words to and that person unconsciously reaches forward, brings its whole body closer. Proximity.
You say those words and a huge weight is lifted from you, for you know they are true, and as they mirror them, you hope they know theirs are just as true. And you stay there, words useless, filling the world around you two with décor, with background, while you are in the forefront of Life, with a capital L.
The moment stretches forever, then ends, but never really. It endures in your dreams years latter, it lives in your soul. It burns you when you can no longer honestly say the words back at the person that could, with a simple look, conjure butterflies into your stomach. Figuratively speaking. Otherwise it would be a bit disgusting if they did that. And it might precipitate the moment you can no longer say I love you back at them.
You say those words and a huge weight is lifted from you, for you know they are true, and as they mirror them, you hope they know theirs are just as true. And you stay there, words useless, filling the world around you two with décor, with background, while you are in the forefront of Life, with a capital L.
The moment stretches forever, then ends, but never really. It endures in your dreams years latter, it lives in your soul. It burns you when you can no longer honestly say the words back at the person that could, with a simple look, conjure butterflies into your stomach. Figuratively speaking. Otherwise it would be a bit disgusting if they did that. And it might precipitate the moment you can no longer say I love you back at them.
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What a misunderstanding this phrase can be, when you are a human:
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