I don't know about you, but I'm happy we met. It's not that I can't remember a time before you or that I can't imagine my life without you. Both things are true, to an extent. My life before you was horrible, filled with terror and anxiety. I was weak, naïve. I didn't know how to deal with life. I thought everything happened for a reason. Now I know better.
I wouldn't be anything if not for you. I don't think you understand completely the extent of my devotion. I need to be near you. I see the looks people give us, a seemingly young girl and a grown man. At hotels I've been offered help, kind people willing to take me in. The comments, for some reason they don't-can't- understand, make me smile. They think we're involved. But you've never touched me like that. Other than adjusting a stance or hand to hand combat, we don't touch at all. The remarks make me sad.
I want this, but I know I must not ask. So I just smile and politely decline. They send us off the next morning with pitying looks. You see them, I know you do. But I take a leaf out of your book and don't bring it up.
We journey in silence, but that's the way I like it. I like to imagine that we're ordinary men, living an ordinary life. What do you think about, I wonder. Your face gives nothing away. And I try to close my face off, but I can't quiet deny the fact that this is the happiest I've ever been. But I know it won't last. Because we're not ordinary men so this happiness is ephemeral.