Strong and silent. Always has been, or for as I long as I’ve known him. Standing. Waiting. Listening. Quietly, for the most part.
His silence bothers me. I talk and I laugh, because I must talk, I must laugh. How does he remain so still, so quiet? I want the secret. He shrugs and smiles. So, I tease him. He doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t help myself. If I can’t be silent, then he must talk, he must laugh. And when he submits a few words, or a low chuckle, it is a hollow victory. Never sure if they were gifts or sacrifices.
Because when they’re true. When they’re birthed from volition, his laughter vibrates the air around him. His conversation rolls like the deep ocean. A wonder to witness. A force of nature.
Contained. Standing. Waiting. Listening. Quietly, for the most part