Albeit he being cryptic

   
Albeit he being cryptic and I being curious, there was less of a struggle then you'd care to expect. For although I had spent six months or more, deliriously trying to decipher minuet clues from his speech alone, I knew in some way that our secret feelings could not be kept secret for much longer.
    If we both knew we loved each other, it was an understatement. With each moment he breathed down my neck, that warm air of whisky or beer, he smelling of laundry and spaces in time, I remembered a year of trust and fulfillment. When laughter was expected not just wished upon. And it was never expressed artificially, but always with belly aching reality. Full of life. Full of life and meaning.
  Stuart, I think to me at least, means something almost unexplainable. But I will try, with the use of words, to describe what love is. A feeling which cannot be described with the rudimentary facilities of language alone.
    Stuart means for me to be warm and happy and yet stifled slightly at the same time. At least it never gets boring, but there is always those masculine silences, the ones a girl is designed biologically to worry over. What is he thinking? One must ponder. For in this new world of 21st century alienation, there is always a chance that it is because you have become suddenly unattractive or tedious. Those pornographic tabloid magazines hang on the shelves with knife hooks embedded, that you have not bought enough lipsticks or bronzers, tight jeans and tankinee’s and now you have fallen victim to ugliness. No better than some mutt in the pound. Sent certainly now to the incinerator. Lady and the Tramp in role reversal.
    But then there are the time that I am sure, beyond reasonable doubt that he loves me. And it’s not when he simply proclaims it, he doesn’t need to buy me cards or flowers or use the well known phrases of love. The a-z book shop definitions of what it feels like to feel. Those are for the ones among you, who are fake and flat and false.
  It’s just when he says I make him feel warm. When he talks to me, honestly, about his future goals in life, and bestows in me, to trust his judgments without fear of reprisal. That’s it. It’s simple. That I love him and he loves me. And no it’s not soppy. Because it’s real. And Stuart and I understand that I think.
  We’re moving in together in August. Sharing a bed, sharing our lives, sharing with each other, the possibility, that this could last well into the future.