“I don’t text you like you text me,”

He said, sipping his bourbon slowly.

I looked at this beautiful man, and knew

It was true.

How many times had I poured out my soul,

To be met with,

“Thank you for the kind words,”

–

Oh, what I’d give

To hear, that he sees in me,

The same beautiful spirit,

The same kinship,

The same deep, abiding love,

That I celebrate so often with flowery words,

Guided by some supernatural force,

Late night, letting them pour from my fingertips,

Waiting in vulnerability for him to read them.

–

But he continued,

“I don’t even think I’d text my girlfriend like that”

As he said it, though,

He dropped the cool, macho mask he loves to wear,

Looking across the table at me,

I saw, sparkling in those magnificent eyes,

Half a decade of friendship,

Pride,

That familiar bond,

He built with me brick by brick.

The man who is always there when I need him,

The reason I stayed when I didn’t want to.

I saw my friend,

My confidante–

I saw the man whose soul

Is inexplicably tied to mine

In ways flowery words don’t give justice to.

In that moment,

I realized,

Whatever he doesn’t say in a text,

This man loves me deeply, too.