A lone voice pierced the noise, confident, deep, strong.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,” James muttered, his mouth not used to the shape of words. His eyes avoided contact, wandered across the room in search for something he knew he’d never find again. “Love isn't about "fighting" for her heart, attention, admiration. It's not about being the only guy she talks to, and it's not about constantly keeping her in mind.
It's not about being "loyal" not talking to any other female. Because that's not love, that's actually defined as an abusive relationship.
“You shouldn't have to obsess about her, kiss her feet, and constantly reassure her that she's ‘"the one’".” He paused, taking a deep breath. His gaze rose from the room, though the bright window.
“When you really love her, and she loves you, words don't do it justice. You don't feel trapped. You don't feel afraid. You feel like you just won the lottery when you think about her. You can look into her eyes and see love and appreciation. You hold her hand and feel like a little kid holding that shiny red balloon that you never want to pop. You wrap your arms around her and you're taken back to that time your parents brought home your first stuffed animal. And when you think about her, you don't think about how much it would hurt to lose her. You think about how amazing it is to know she exists. And you know in your heart you'd do anything to keep the smile on her face.”
Silence met the end of his declaration. The group starred, not quite sure what to make of his epiphanic answer. James went back to his lunch, eating in silence and letting his desires entertain his thoughts.
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,” James muttered, his mouth not used to the shape of words. His eyes avoided contact, wandered across the room in search for something he knew he’d never find again. “Love isn't about "fighting" for her heart, attention, admiration. It's not about being the only guy she talks to, and it's not about constantly keeping her in mind.
It's not about being "loyal" not talking to any other female. Because that's not love, that's actually defined as an abusive relationship.
“You shouldn't have to obsess about her, kiss her feet, and constantly reassure her that she's ‘"the one’".” He paused, taking a deep breath. His gaze rose from the room, though the bright window.
“When you really love her, and she loves you, words don't do it justice. You don't feel trapped. You don't feel afraid. You feel like you just won the lottery when you think about her. You can look into her eyes and see love and appreciation. You hold her hand and feel like a little kid holding that shiny red balloon that you never want to pop. You wrap your arms around her and you're taken back to that time your parents brought home your first stuffed animal. And when you think about her, you don't think about how much it would hurt to lose her. You think about how amazing it is to know she exists. And you know in your heart you'd do anything to keep the smile on her face.”
Silence met the end of his declaration. The group starred, not quite sure what to make of his epiphanic answer. James went back to his lunch, eating in silence and letting his desires entertain his thoughts.