Our love is a quiet one. No television broadcast or picture-plastered wall. No news of our love letters and time spent together blaring from loudspeakers. We don’t wear lockets or carve each other’s names like emblems on our bodies. The relatives and casual friends string our names together occasionally, but they don’t sparkle like pearls or diamonds on a chain. Most have kept their love the shiniest of visible. We let our love dull in the eyes of the onlookers. Everyone else is holding hands in the city square and shopping malls, but secret glances and shared smiles in the supermarket are enough for us. We have our memories and whispers and souls marked with each other’s fingertips — and a great silence on everyone else’s lips but ours, which tell each other over and over an unpublished ‘I love you’.
