Love Felt.

He looked at her. He saw pain in her eyes. He could see it all. See that she was suffering. She'd come to him with red eyes and she would want a hug. And he never questioned her want for her hugs. He gives them, unconditionally. He could feel that his hugs helped her, at least momentarily. But sooner or later, she'd come back for one more.

He understands that sometimes it's not the words that he speaks, irrelevant of where they come from and why they are used, that are going to help. Everytime she hurts herself he doesn't scold her. He doesn't tell her not to hurt herself. He doesn't point out that hurting herself is not in any way the cure for her pains. He doesn't remind her that hurting herself is only making the situation worse for her. He doesn't tell her that the bad phases pass away like the temporary clouds that they are. He doesn't tell her he loves her.

What he does do is that he fetches her a cure. When she cuts herself, he gets her a bandage. When she finds it hard to sleep, he plays her her favourite music. When she is too meek to eat, he feeds her. When she's too tired to walk, he carries her. When she is too much in pain, he hugs her. Tightly. Reassures her. Makes her feel that things will get better. He portrays that the good times are right in front of her. He makes her feel his love.

And that's exactly what she felt. His love. Unconditional, pure.