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I don’t think he ever knew what love meant. He could never even fathom it; taste it, touch it. That mundane little soul never knew what it was.

Although, he could say it.

I would watch him open his mouth, tears forming in my eyes at the beauty of that singular meaning on his tongue. He spewed it as if he were Eros himself. He would sing such a canny song, he was shrewd; the spirit of Dolos, he was. He had a bottle size of poison tinged in my soul, I could have sworn I was branded.

But I don’t think I ever knew what love meant. I could taste it, feel the weight of those words. I had come to love that word love.

Although, I could never say it.