No matter how much you love him, or perhaps because you love him so much, he is bound to hurt you one time or another… unknowingly, inevitably… because you are so attuned to what he says and to what he doesn’t say. You want to lash back at him, not to hurt really, but to explain… just to point out things he seems to have missed. And yet you don’t… because you know that it will hurt anyway.

And you wouldn’t want to do that… because you know he’s been hurt before, and for all you know he’s still being hurt by other things, and other people…. and you don’t want to hurt him anew. Because you know what he’s been putting up with for the love of these people, and for the love of you. Because you trust that this moment of carelessness was just him, just a part of the package you have purported to love, and that it doesn’t have anything to do with his love for you. Because you remember that no matter how high the pedestal you’ve created for him is, he’s just like the rest of us… capable of making mistakes. And... well, to you they may be mistakes, but to him they may be well-grounded arguments. And you remind yourself that you are neither infallible, nor can you claim view to the total picture as well.

So no matter how much your heart wants to cry out you don’t dare give it a voice. And when he asks you what’s wrong, you say nothing is. You say nothing is as your eyes well up… nothing is as you can’t help but be less than perky. In fact, you’re not perky at all. Your eyes are shifty as you try to stop the tears. Your hands are dead weights when he takes them in his. And when he asks you something, it’s like you suddenly woke up to where you are and who you’re with.

And through all these he is silent. He accepts that nothing is wrong as he sees your eyes smarting and holds your unresponsive hands. He accepts that nothing is wrong as he tries talking to you… carefully, tentatively… as if toeing a livewire. And he does things… little things, sweet things… like an overture to reach out to the comfortable warmth he knows lurking behind the hurt. And he keeps doing this and that, wondering when the wall will crumble. Why doesn’t he just apologize? Whatever for? You said nothing was wrong. And he accepted that. He believed you, in spite of.

Perhaps because you love him so much, or perhaps because you know he loves you after all, in a while you forget the hurt. That familiar tenderness creeps in. And when he holds your hand, your fingers entwine. When he lays his cheek on your shoulder, you cradle his head with your arms. And when he looks into your eyes, they smile up to him.

You were hurt. He was forgiven. Neither one of you knows how. Neither one offered any excuses or pointed any fingers. But both of you know why…

It’s the way love is.