At the beginning there’d been love notes, folded up into origami triangles of blue-lined notebook paper and tucked secretly into closed laptops. There were doodled-upon envelopes sealed with whimsical stickers, nestled into the hedgerow outside of the office and a cryptic text message alerting the other to the delivery’s whereabouts. There were sappy valentines delivered by bike courier and well-wishes written in chalk on their bedroom wall before leaving for work.
Now there were only grocery lists, jotted down in haste after a rushed cup of coffee. To-dos for home remodeling projects and phone numbers for this doctor’s office who needed an appointment confirmation before Wednesday or that old college friend who’d called seeking a reunion over coffee. They each privately wondered, in quiet moments of uncertainty, where their words had gone, fearful of what it said about the relationship.
And yet each held the same optimistic belief that they’d simply learned to read each other like poetry; what once was said with words now read in the smile lines of one another’s face or the simple moments of silent bliss, cuddling in the morning before work, sunshine streaming in rays through the venetian blinds. Their affection had transcended the need for physical proof and achieved that unspoken, blind faith only possible through pure love. The words they wrote now made up the pages of their life together; non-fiction romance, co-authored in real time.