And every once in a while, something jumps out of the past to smack me over the noggin with why I fell in love with the man in the first place. I had gotten out the box of old journals to look up the entries from around when I actually did start falling in love with Darkside, and I typed those up the other night. Today, I was looking around the room, and my eye lit on the box with the journals, and I thought: I wonder if that note from him is still in there.
You see, quite some time ago, some time when I was strongly fragmented, and one of the four of us was apt to go voiceless (she was effectively mute, and was only able to communicate via writing and hand-spelling), I was suddenly kicked into her by one of those little triggers that would be nothing to someone more resilient. I went silent all of a sudden, in the middle of a social conversation about something or other. It was at breakfast in the cafeteria at DeVry, and it was one of our early mornings, with Darkside and me (and Bald Guy had just walked in and put himself in the middle of the conversation, and I just left). I'd been enjoying the conversation, though, so I attempted to continue it on paper, writing what I would have said out rather than saying it aloud.
Darkside, of course, wasn't about to let me get away with not telling him what was up. After determining that there was indeed something wrong, he shooed Bald Guy away, and set about the process of finding out what was wrong and how to fix it. He started with spoken words, but evidently those became too public, and too conspicuous given that I wasn't saying anything, so he turned to the paper with his words as well.
He proceeded to strip textually naked, bad spelling and awkward handwriting and all. Somewhere inside him, he found the words -- maybe not the perfect ones, as I claim, but the words that were there waiting and the best at the moment -- to reach through the silence and tears and the places we'd both already been and he never wanted to go back to and he wanted to bring me out of.
I saved that note and slipped it inside one of the unused journals in that box so that it would be in a place I could find it whenever I needed to read it and remember that for all my human flaws, for all my weakness, for all that I am nothing like his ideal woman, for all he has flaws that are fine for a friend, but are disgracefully inappropriate for someone's Eternal True Love, for all that despite the bond, he's only willing/able to acknowledge me as a friend, for all of that, he still cares for me more than his straitlaced Vulcan attitude about these sort of things will let him admit.