He loved me through echoes.
Those intangible utterances that the ear strains to hear.
Shouts into the void; returning as soft as whispers of whiskey-scented breath on heated skin.
He never came right out and said it.
He never spoke those three despicable, wonderful words directly to my face.
But he screamed it to the cave, and you had to listen.
Listen. Strain your ears to hear the echoes of his fervent declaration bounce back from those cold, stone walls.
I am never sure if I heard it quite right.
Maybe those were his own words.
Maybe they were just the words I wanted to hear.