If you were to ask why I love him, I’d say it’s because I feel him.

No, I felt him when I first met him, eight years ago, before it all started. A light sparked in my brain; I knew this person’s being. A strong feeling like we had met before, as though in some past life. I can predict his every move, his thoughts, his visions; yet I hardly know him. What is this?

Then as I got older, it only spread. Without exaggeration, I soon felt him as intangible beauty. I felt him as air blowing through the trees in the echo of silence. I felt the essence of his consciousness everywhere, as though the core of his being were being whispered to me in manifestations that only helped my own self grow. He was wise for his age, and his wisdom called to me. The same way I knew his life force when I first met him; I understood it more each day and each day it became more a part of me. Every statement he’d make was as though it was coming from my own self; I soon felt him as my very own blood running through my veins.

This is my most potent love. It has manifested as a result of great understanding. It is a reflection of ourselves, our perception, our own values. On many levels, he captured me. He embodied and infiltrated my everyday experience of life, but on the deepest levels. He taught me about intuition. Wisdom. Tolerance. He spoke to a part of me that I knew and was packed away somewhere in the recesses of my brain, but had barely explored. He was in a way, a miracle. A rare being. A shining light in the midst of darkness.

Yet, with all this profound feeling of a deep, spiritual love, it can still only be called a mere harmonious prelude of subjectivity. I am lost in the reality that his being has haunted me with; I am stuck in the intermingling of spirituality, of values, of identity, that we have woven together. And no matter how significant it feels, it is still just a part of my solo rollercoaster ride of life.

Together, he and I belong to this silence, yet I still hear the music of his being so loudly in its most still moments. He calls to me; and I wonder if he in reality is thinking of me, or if it’s just my own heart’s longing for our reality to come to life. In every moment of his continual absence, our wordless relationship, for me, is very much alive. And when I open my eyes, eight years later, it is still only him I see.

I don’t know if I can ever shake this one.