I had a lot of fun on our date tonight, she says. I just hope I didn't tell you all my stories, or the next date is just going to be awkward silence.
But that exactly, my dear, is what I want. To have nothing more to talk about, because everything has been said, and I know you like the mason knows every corner of the church he built because it's his hands that placed every stone, and like the author knows the book he wrote because it's his mind that thought the words in the first place.
There's nothing left to explore and there's nothing left to read, that's where I want to be.
You see, my dear, the silence between strangers and that between old souls is very different.
Because in that silence, in the silence that succeeds complete and exhausting revelation, lies the peaceful acceptance that our stories have, at last, intertwined.
The chisel that hasn't yet been lifted is anxious, in turmoil, is desperate to be used. The chisel that is placed down after David is carved, while still in the same place, is satisfied and in a peaceful state of inertia.
And that is the difference between the silence that was and the one that will be.
I want to, no, I need to know you till there's nothing left to explore and there's nothing left to read, and that's where I want to be.
Because then we create. Because then we write.
When you have no stories to tell me because I've already lived them with you, that's when our blind date ends, and we become old souls.
For now, would you like to grab dinner again tomorrow?
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