-?-

I ask her a lot of questions. And not just your typical, everyday, matter of fact questions. I ask hard questions. I put her on the spot. And I do it often.

I ask why she loves me. I ask her to explain how she loves me. She tries piecing her words together. I make her compare different types of love. I ask how she’d feel if anything ever happened to me, or if she woke up tomorrow and I was gone. I ask her how she’d act. I ask what she’d want of mine. I ask how long it’d take her to move on. I ask ask ask, and she answers. Eventually, I stop.

Then I ask if I can read to her. It’s late. And she has to get up early. But I still ask. She says yes. Not that I really enjoy reading out loud. It’s not that at all. I just want to read, but I don’t want her to fall asleep. I want her to fall asleep with me. So aloud, I read a chapter, and it’s starting to get really good. She might be bored. I ask if I can read again to her tomorrow. Without hesitation, of course, she says. I put the book down. I roll over to face her.

Nose to nose. Reading light still on. She brings her hands up to my cheeks. I bring my hands to her hands. We lay in silence looking into one another. We’re so close that our shadows make it seem dark. I can see her big blue eyes. She opens her mouth to talk. She begins explaining. A tear rolls from her eye over my finger. Without saying much at all, I begin reading her. She’s answering a question. Now I understand how she loves me. I just can’t figure out why.