He tells me that she’s beautiful.
I hear him out and I look at him, keenly. He tells me that all her veins bleed of, is grace. He is exaggerating. We are humans. We bleed blood. Or maybe I’m a little jealous.
He tells me that she has the most beautiful smile. When she smiles, he tells me that he feels everything is setting in its place, without even doing anything. Everything just seems alright. I look at him and smile; hoping that he’d feel better looking at me too. He looks at me and tells me that he’s glad to see me happy for him.
He tells me that her voice makes him weak on his knees. Her voice makes him pause anything he is doing and look at her. But I don’t know how to talk with my mouth having no words at all and my throat choked with words like “look at me,” “hold me,” “I don’t want to live without you,” “I love you,” but he is too deaf to hear them. So I listen.
He tells me that it is she who makes the meaning of love evident. It is her hand that he wants to hold for the rest of his life. I look at mine; and I touch each of them tenderly. I don’t know what else to do.