We were talking relationship blues over coffee and you just asked me if I am prepared to die an old, lonely woman.
“But I don’t want to be in a relationship.”
“At least the romantic type.” I added, serious this time.
“How can that be?” eyebrows raised, with a frown, you asked.
I laughed. Trust a guy who has been in a whirlwind of romantic relationships all his adult (maybe even adolescent) life, not to get it.
“I am contented with being alone. That doesn’t make me less happy. And we all die anyway.” I said.
“Yet you want to be loved.” You reminded me.
“Of course, who doesn’t? But if I don’t end up with somebody, so be it. I won’t waste sleepless nights over it.” I answered.
Silence. You sip your coffee while I try to interpret your non answer.
Yet your faraway look and sheepish smile told me everything.
You’re not convinced. But for the sake of our comfortable friendship, you are willing to trust me and try to make sense of it all.
You admitted once that you know me, but you don’t get me.
I seem like a puzzle to you. One you will never be able to solve.
And I told you how I love these late afternoon coffee talks.
And I like that you never judge. Never tried to change my jaded, twisted views on life.
You just laugh and tell me in your own wordless expression that you accept me… weirdness and all.
And that is why I will not die lonely.
And that is how I know I am loved.