It wasn’t the words. It didn’t take words as we both watched the sky lighten, the dawn coming upon us like a sordid reminder of the end. He lit my gift cigarette with a care I hadn’t felt since another, one who had said the words too easily.

No this man, he was silent- all jokes and playful teasing. And as our cigarettes slowly breathed to butts I enjoyed the early morning birds singing. He had stayed when I thought he would leave, little did I know this would be the last time. I soaked up the morning air, reminiscing of the last month and in my heart I knew, this universe wasn’t made for us.

His looks were too frequent, all when he thought I wasn’t looking and too vividly I recalled his body pressed against mine. His words of pride as we won our game. He held me like it was second nature, unthinking as he pulled me to his chest. Even now I recall it was something I instantly missed.

I would miss how he forgot his words as he stared down at me, his eyes fluttering across my face. Miss the silent faces he would pull when he lost another game. I would miss the mirth in his eyes when he saw me in a crowd. Perhaps it was the right person at the wrong time, it surely felt like it.

My name from his lips was the perfect song, the brush of my hand against his was all I needed. And as the light from our cigarettes burned out, burning brighter was our feelings.

In the quiet morning we sat together, waiting for his car, my backside cold and aching from the concrete steps we sat upon. We were both drunk that night, I remembered dancing when he took a moment outside. Then in he walked, watching me, smiling, asking: “are you having a nice time?”. And that’s when I knew, the looks, the innocent, small touches, although not meant to happen, were all we could have.

All I would have was the bird song, the cigarettes, the lightening sky and my name on his lips.

I had no words and neither did he, but he would spend time, just him and me. Pull me from the group, sit us in the cold, ask about my day and tales from long ago.

I never told him how I felt, and I knew he felt it too. But he wouldn’t say it to me, she would hear “I love you”

I would get those mornings, when we stayed out after our friends left. He would wave away, or walk me home, making sure I got back safe. He would touch me when he could, press his body to mine. I didn’t need to hear I love you, to feel loved every night.

He saw my scars and I saw his too, from every angle he saw me and didn’t just look through. He cared for me, defended me, protected me at all costs. This man was not a fighter and too pretty to be rough. Yet for me he relented.

No, he didn’t say the words, I cannot put everything in them. But I will miss him greatly just as I hated that rising sun.

And it was when I returned home that morning, my phone pinged and to the second he had counted the minutes from those steps to my house. His timing always perfect when it came to me arriving and leaving. Then laying across my bed my heart was going too fast to keep beating.

He said my name the next day, his voice a delicate whisper. That was the last time I heard bird song in winter.

He never said goodbye, I learned he could not speak. But it was the day I said goodbye that his eyes found me. I heard well wishes, then I heard my name. And despite the month of silence, he asked me: “please return one day”