“I love you!” he whisper-shouted, right before he collapsed on me in a sweaty naked heap.
I picked my head up off the black leather chair, my legs still sprawled helter-skelter every-which-way around him, and I looked straight into his eyes and laughed. It was a laugh as much out of incredulousness that this moment was actually happening as much as it was out of sheer joy. Through my laugh, I found myself saying, “I love you too!”, even though it felt completely weird and alien to say. Not because I didn’t mean it—but precisely because I DID mean it. And the weight of the fact that it had been almost six years since I said those words hit me as soon as I heard them, in my voice, hanging in the air.