What brings two people together?
For her, a man had to be able to talk. She wasn’t interested in the tall, dark and silent type. She had already had one of those—tall, blond and silent.
Silence is only a façade, though, because in the end, everyone talks. The question is, what do they talk about?
Some men harbor their hurt in silence, letting it fester until it poisons everyone in their perimeter. When she was young, she found this quality attractive. She imagined her role as providing the balm to his wounds.
When the blond man talked, he spoke in metaphors or told her stories. He did not speak of the things close to his heart.
She discovered, after many failed attempts, that she was not enough balm for his wounds.
In the end, they were silent together. All talk stopped.
The next man was a robust and brilliant talker, willing and able to expound on matters far and near to the heart.
They talked for hours. They talked about everything. They examined the innards of hearts and minds until the wee hours of the morning.
His talk, which she was no match to outlast, finally exhausted her. She could listen no more.
The last man came to her apartment on their first date and sat in a chair in the living room drinking one beer after another. She almost kept up with him.
They drank and talked.
But she could not follow his line of reasoning. He was a puzzle, his mind a labyrinth. She got caught in its winding paths.
She was intrigued, but resistant.
He was persistent.
They took long walks in the woods and while they walked, they talked.
She could talk to him about anything.
He talked to her about everything.
They became best friends.
We should get married, she finally said.
