"That's what she said," a rewrite.

"I just read your note. I don't want you depressed. I want you to be happy; motivated; wanting all of the joy in life."

That's what she said. But in return, I just give her an awkward smile. A simple 'I-don't-know-where-we're-going-with-this' smile. "I'm serious." She says. And when she says it, something inside of me breaks... a million pictures in my head flash at once. Of the last time when I was serious. And she is serious. Right now. With me. She is serious. I try to lighten the mood. The last thing I want is for her to worry about me. It just feels unnecessarily reversed in my head. I'm supposed to worry about her. Not the other way around.

I reply. "I know. I was happy today."

"Yes, but I wish you could be happy everyday. Every moment," she says. And I agree... but still, I'm persistent, because I seriously don't want her to be concerned. "I was happy all day today, at least. I knew I was going to see you. So I was pretty much happy all freakin' day." And now, I try to pull it towards playful again, I put a little zing in my tone. And try for a little bit more confidence. Apparently it's convincing, she comes right back with some more playful. "Wait... you were 'happy?' Like, you know, 'Happy?'" Accompanied by a laugh.

I suddenly decide that maybe playful isn't the right way to go right now. I don't feel playful. And I do not lie to women. I smile as I take her hands in mine, and I say this. "No, dear. A deeper happy. A happy that always sings when you know that the piece of your soul you have left is going to come in contact with the piece of soul that makes everything complete. Because it is perfect, to be as one. To not be apart. Because it hurts so much when you're ripped apart... it's like paper. That kind of happy. The only kind of happy I want." And there are a couple of things about this. One, I'm ad-libbing. Thinking of it as I go... But, secondly, I meant everything I said. I don't lie. Certainly not to her. And what I said couldn't have been more heartfelt. And at that moment, I could breathe again, just a little, because for once I didn't have to censor my tongue from what was in my heart and my mind. I'm not shut away, secluded in some random dark corner of my mind somewhere.

For now, everything of the past two weeks disappears, because in retrospect, it's not even important anyway. When I look into her eyes, I realize that I need to completely leave any and all thought of me behind, because I'm only a piece of a puzzle. And to be selfishly thinking of me completely disregards the whole. It disregards her, and I won't make that mistake again. We're yin and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. And in this infinite moment together, I realize that the word cliche is only a word.

As if romantic cliches like these were invented for the sole purpose of explaining the love between myself and this girl. And they fail. They fall horribly. But I feel it - in this moment.

And here's what she says... "That's... a very sweet kind of happy."

From there the discussion is tapered off into other subjects. You know, the kind of things that people talk about. It's just...conversation. It's not awkward at all: I'm comfortable with this girl. I'm open, but eventually, somehow I get sidetracked... I find that corner of my mind again. Everything is dark around me. Somehow I can't look into her eyes anymore. I want to, but I can't bring myself to do it. Anywhere but her eyes, and I can pass off my behavior as normal, but if I look at her, she pulls it out of me. And she sounds so sad when she's concerned about me; it's heartbreaking, and I don't want to worry her. And before I know it, it's time to go.

"It's that time again..." I noticed: sometimes I swear I can feel the presence of her father behind me - her body language tells me everything. I drop our embrace, almost stoically. "Yeah," I say. I want to say more. I want to say everything. Before I can, she says, "I hate this. I always do." All that I can come up with to reply is, "So do I." Yeah, really original, right? I feel like an idiot.

She says it first. "I love you, James. Like, a whole bunch."

I smile. "I love you too."

"With cherries on top?"

"...Sure."

I sneak a glance, and she catches it easily. It must be written all over my face. Pause. Coming back into reality, she lets out the breath we've both been holding in euphoria for God knows how long.

"Don't be depressed on me. I don't want to leave you like this."

The plea in her voice shakes me. Is it hot all of a sudden, or is it just the back of my neck? My throat, behind my eyes? I can barely say, "I'm trying. But that's how it goes. You leave, and then I'm 'like this.'"

Now she has the look, too. Because I can see that it's true for her just as much as it is for me. Anyone in the world could see that. It's so obvious.

"And that makes me feel like crap," she says. She controls her voice so well. I envy that. But she's trembling. I can feel it. An inch of space between us, and I feel the girl trembling.

I put my hand ever so lightly on her cheek, and look right into her eyes. I'm so taken aback by the immaculately soft skin, that I almost forget the one word I had already picked out to say. It barely comes out.

"...Don't."

I try to comfort her. Like I feel I'm supposed to. I have no idea if I'm really able to, but as long as I'm with her, no matter where I am, I'm going to try to do just that. I continue with a justification, "I'll see you tomorrow." I throw in the "I promise" with my eyes. The tone of my voice. My touch. My body language. Not with my voice. I wouldn't say it if I couldn't make her know it. And right now, she knows that I'm going to see her tomorrow. It's a fact. Simple as that.

"But don't come tomorrow if you feel sick. Okay?" The question at the end makes me feel obligated to give her my word. I don't lie to women. Not if I can help it. But if I have to, I really really hate to. So I leave her with this.

"I will. I don't care how I feel. It would be worth it, just to see you again." And right there, I want to give her a hug--no, a kiss. The one that says everything in the entire world without having to speak a word. The one that can actually stop time to where it's just the two of you and nothing else, forever. But she's already out the door. The opportunity is wasted.

Gone.

And though, I know she's just on the other side of this door, getting into a car, already she feels miles away. So far away. So far away from everything I want to tell her, to show her. To be for her. I would trade everything I have to show her what she means to me, because I'm sure that words can't doing it justice.

But, like everything else in my life, I'm just too afraid to show her. What it could mean if I do. If everything could change. I worry if I'm being too pushy, or too eager to seek a deeper commitment, When love in the world now has been demoted and degraded so much that many guys just want to "Superman that ho."

But I love her. The old way. So much. And I don't know how I'll ever be able to show her.