I’m very open with my feelings.

I love my friends and my family vehemently.

I say “I love you” with ease, and I always mean it.

However, with him I’ve been cautious. I’ve held my tongue. I’ve kept my “I love yous” to myself. Guarded and restrained. These cannot be shared. There is a certain protocol for this kind of thing.

Rules to be followed.

So I stayed quiet. Good nights and good byes left pregnant with the I love yous I could not share but could only feel.

It’s our anniversary. One year together.

One year isn’t much.

But for me it is a milestone.

One year. A man has stayed with me for one year. A man has remained attracted to me for one year. A man has put up with my mood swings and my jealousy for one year.

I wrote him a card. I didn’t have time for a present. I hadn’t remembered. Life has been busy and hectic. I hadn’t even realized September was ending. But I wrote him a card and I put it in there. I snuck in my I love you, and I waited for him to read it. For him to react.

I gave it to him and watched as he read it. He laughed at the part about our first date coinciding with the purchase of my IKEA couch and he smiled and hugged me.

I looked at him waiting for his response. He kissed me.

“‘Your princess.’ I like that. Thank you.”

It wasn’t what I expected.

But I let it slide.

It hurt. But I know better than to force someone.

I put it out there. It was on the table. I was not afraid. He could say it. I was ready to hear it.

We went to dinner at the restaurant where we had our first date. We even sat at the same table. On our first date I was able to get him to try new food– Cuban cuisine. This time I got him to try my favorite Cuban dish.

It was a good date.

We went for ice cream and then came home. he walked the dog while I got ready for bed and I wondered if I should say anything.

He came to bed and wrapped me in his arms.

There in the darkness together, because only in the quiet could I bear to ask, only without having to look him in the eyes could I even muster the courage, yet still I barely whispered, “Do you love me?”

Silence.

And immediate regret.

I was stupid. I knew better. If you have to ask, the answer is not what you want to hear.

“Do you love me?” I ask again. I did not learn my lesson. I never learn my lesson. I ask and I pry, because I have to know, because I cannot be content by simply not knowing. This was important information.

Desperation made me stupid.

There was an intake of breathe, “Jem,” he whispered.

With my name I was broken.

Quietly I sobbed in his arms as he held me. I shook with the pain of knowledge.

What are three words?

They are a vast desert when you are lost, barefoot in the sand. They are the impossible.

“I’m sorry.” I heard the tremble in his voice. “Baby, I’m sorry.” I turned to face him. I held his face in my hands. How strange it was to see the face of a man who was crying because of me.

“Don’t cry.” I whispered. Hushing him like a baby. Wiping his tears while my own were still hot on my face. “Don’t cry.” I repeated. Kissing his cheeks. “Don’t cry.”

His eyes pleading for my understanding.

I rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair. I cried as we fell asleep.

What is love?

Love is enduring. Love is understanding. Love is. Love is…

There in my bedroom, quiet, save for the white noise of the trains rattling by and fluffy dog snoring in the corner, we were two broken people trying to answer that question and holding onto the hope that maybe we could find it together.