‘What are you reading?’ He asked me.
My head was on his shoulder, while we were laying in bed.
I wasn’t reading anything at that moment.
My head was just resting on his shoulder.
I didn’t respond to what he was saying.
‘What is your favorite author?’ He asked.
It felt sharp the way he said it.
Maybe he wasn’t satisfied that I didn’t give him an answer.
I didn’t respond.
Again.
I just needed some time to come up with an answer.
I like to read ‘that’ Japanese author, is what I said.
‘Murakami’.
I believe this is where the conversation ended.
I don’t know if he wanted me to read anything in particular, but I felt I needed to say something at least.
I found it a good answer and I did like to read Murakami’s stories.
I didn’t explain further to him why I liked his stories or why I was reading them.
I can only remember that when I was reading them, it made sense to me.
It wasn’t something I could relate to. However I could understand that his world of how he was experiencing things, was making sense to him.
Apart from all the symbolic and spiritual context he was writing it.
And perhaps even more things hidden in his stories.
It didn’t really matter.
I was still laying in his bed.
The rush I felt on how he was asking me these questions had left.
From the very first day we met, I felt sort of afraid, when I was around him.
And it wasn’t without notice.
He had made me cry. Had said some hurtful things.
But I came to know that it was more him than me.
I think he had even said it himself to me.
I began to wonder.
Why was I actually still with him?
I don’t think someone should give me that feeling.
To rush, that I needed to answer his questions and above all the feeling that perhaps my answer is not right.
And let’s not forget he had also made me cry on that very first date.
I know I was laying there in his bed and didn’t feel the need to leave.
I wanted to give him a hug instead.
But I can’t remember what it is I did.
I believe he turned around and turned off the light.
However it did stuck on me for some time.
I was thinking.
Does it come with age that we start to take the negative side of our partner ‘for granted’?
That we see more of the things of value and stay therefor?
Is that what love is about?
I was still thinking.
Although the way he spoke and asked me those questions was hurting.
It didn’t feel that this with him was hurting.
If any of us was hurting, it was more him than me.
I didn’t feel hurt in my essence.
However the questions kept running through my head.
Is this what love is all about and is this love what I am feeling?
To be stuck in thoughts, of the way my partner is behaving?