It Was Quiet

It had been a rough week, and this day was the most turbulent of all. They talked and they talked. The waitress looked at them in a way that reassured her, like they were lucky. She came to inform them the restaurant was closing, then on their way out, she said to him, "She's beautiful." "Yes, she is," he answered.

They moved to the parking lot and talked some more on the still warm hood of her car. It was dusk. He made many promises. He was the kind of affectionate of which she had always dreamed. They knew each other well and had always had a way of working through every situation, but this one terrified her for all the possibilities that it could turn out to be. She loved him, she wanted him, and she never needed him more than she did in that moment.

Friday came, and she told him she just wanted to relax. She was tired of drowning; tired of tears and worry and too many emotions to bear. She just wanted him near. So, he suggested they go for a drive. He held her hand. Somewhere along a dark road she said, "I'm really thankful for you... I'm thankful we've made it this far," to which he gently replied, "Me too," and lifted her hand to his tender kiss. She needed him, she loved him, and she never wanted him more than she did in that profound moment.

There was something safe about being with him that night. Though unsure of the future, she felt secure in his presence. The past was simply a record, the future a mere wish. His steadiness in the present was all that she had.

It was quiet.

She whispered breathlessly; he leaned in and embraced her.

She wanted him, she needed him, and she never loved him more than she did in that quiet, honest, vulnerable moment.