What You Don’t Tell

The longer I live, the more I start to think that not telling about something might just be one of the things that makes it so special. Not because putting an experience into words won’t do it justice but more because of context…and personal history and all the things that happen inside your skull and inside your chest that no one except you could ever really understand.

To prevent any undue speculation on your part (or mine…if that even makes sense), I will say that I’ve started dating a girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve really liked a girl, and that’s probably one of the reasons this feels different. At 32, I feel like I understand a lot about life. But this is one area I don’t think I’ll ever claim to know anything about. Probably because, around her, I’m like a kid again, in all the good ways. I’m innocent again. I believe again – in all the things I’d written off as merely wishful thinking or straight up fiction.

But that’s all I can say. Because, right now, as much as I want to put it in words, I’m not sure that I can—and even more so, I’m not sure that I’d want to.