Mythology

I had forgotten how much suffering can be manufactured in the absence of a face.

How a week of silence can become an entire mythology.

Then—there you were.

Simply there.

Standing in my doorway with a prayer still clinging to you like the last light of evening.

And suddenly all the questions lost their authority.

Not because they were answered.

Because you were there.

Because reality, for once, was kinder than imagination.

We talked.

The way we always do.

Following one thought into another.

Your eyes holding mine with that impossible attention that makes the rest of the world feel temporarily irrelevant.

You have always listened as though language matters.

As though every word arrives carrying something fragile.

And perhaps that is why I eventually gave you the simplest one.

I want you.

The simplest sentence

I have ever spoken.

The most difficult.

And for a moment the world became very quiet.

You looked at me as though you could see the cost of that honesty.

Then—

All you said was, God.

Not as an answer.

Not as a refusal.

But as a man

standing at the edge

of something larger than himself.