the eyes of the silent
So you would like to know why I left you today. No doubt it will be easier for you to understand than for me to explain it to you, since you are the finest example of male impermeability that one could meet.
We had spent the day confessing our feelings for each other in typed messages, which I read sometimes behind the screen of my desktop and other times in bed, cradling my phone. We told each other how even after not seeing each other for years, nothing had changed; how after all this time, we had grown to be perfect for each other and what a shame this distance is; a remedy for our loneliness that was, after all, nothing remarkable except for the fact that this day together was possible only because we weren't together at all.
As you spoke, the silence in my room became maddening, because this stillness is one that doubts itself. It's not us talking or even me talking to myself, but ourselves talking to one another's self; the voices in our heads rubbing thighs, too, with the insatiable skin of everyone else self-admitted online. And beyond this deafened chatter was a very real chatter and loud cars just opposite my thin walls of my ground floor apartment.
In the afternoon your time, I told you a story about a trader who had an affinity for being flogged by three paid women as he wore high heels and a hooded robe. His arms would be tied together and hung from the ceiling, and the room he would rent for the occasion would always be strikingly beautiful. As I waited for your response, I wondered whether he cried and guessed what he would yell out, what he would want the girls to say and whether they said it; and I wondered about the positions of the women, if they felt empowered or used being the source of such controlled humiliation; and my mind again returned to the excitement of the eyes under that hood when you said, 'Those girls are unbearable, with their eyes so demure as if what they're doing is not prostitution. Don't you know it's never ending when it comes to money?'
You see, my dear angel, how difficult it is to hear one another, and how incommunicable all thoughts are, even between people who say they love each other.