She pulls away slowly, looks at me with a query in her eyes, and asks: “What is your purpose?”
Again, I smile. “My purpose is to love you.”
She frowns. “To what end?”
My smile disappears. “I have more purchasing power than I know what to do with; I have more freedom than anyone has a right to have; and I have the peace of mind to occupy a place in a position where I can allow myself to be, have, do, and become whatever I will or desire.”
She turns away, walks back to the window. It’s her way of telling me that she’s not satisfied with my answer. We’ve had this discussion before, her and I, and never once have I given her a straight answer. I know what she wants, but I just can’t bring myself to give it to her. I need something for myself.
I walk to her, place my hands lightly on her bare shoulders. She tenses and then relaxes. I could wrap my arms around her, embrace her, and cherish her with my embrace, but I decide to simply stand behind her, gaze through the window with her, and wait patiently for our conversation to continue.
