Free The Rules In Paradise (Playing By The Rules) by Lindsey Woods Page B

you figured out you do or say something that comes out of left field. This is why I can't figure you out. This is what I mean when I struggle not to be near you. There is always something surprising, almost brand new about you. You're like a breath of fresh air everyday." He looked at me for a moment and then away after he finished speaking.
                  "Do you really fight it or is that just what you say to yourself?" I asked hesitantly. He gave a low hiccup of laughter.
                  "See what I mean? You are nearly too perceptive. I'd like to believe that I try to fight it, it's just your pull always wins. It won that day I watched you at the pool. That evening on the boat was probably top ten best evenings of my life and that is impressive Olivia. I've been extremely lucky in my life and I've had some great times. But you are so, enchanting that I must you place you reasonably high."
                  "Why do you need to fight it?" I was still resting my head on my arms, watching him while we spoke.
                  "Because there is nothing healthy about it. We are both in this paradise, which is poisoning us into believing we feel something we do not. When we do part ways I cannot manage a sad, tearful goodbye. In the light of day, things are always different. Here? In this beautiful city we are living in perpetual night. Only when we return to reality will it be light and reveal this for what it is." He spoke wistfully. He broke eye contact and again was talking to the horizon.
                  "And what is 'it'?" My stomach turned as I got the words out. For the first time in awhile he gave a genuine smile.
                  "This is a clusterfuck. Excuse the expression, but this a mess." I didn't know how to respond to that so I sat quietly again. This time the silence wore on, seemingly never-ending.
                  "Noise or silence?" I asked. Cole was seated with his knees raised in front of him, resting his forearms on them. He gave a small smile and looked down for a moment.
                  "Noise."
                  "Why."
                  "No ma'am, those are the rules. You first."
                  "Silence." He turned to me, seemingly surprised.
                  "Noise means things are happening, others are around. I like noise because it means progress. Silence means things are still and often times you are alone."
                  I shrugged. "I like alone. It's comforting. Silence let's you think and wonder and just process things."
                  "Thinking is not always the best idea," he said.
                  "It is when you have to figure something out. Sometimes all you need is silence to gain perspective on something. There were so many artists that could only create when they are alone and in silence. It's like something would speak to them only if they were alone. Like people who say that God speaks to them. It doesn't ever happen around anyone else. Silence can be powerful." I was kind of shocked at how defensive I had become, but I felt strongly about my position.
                  "The paradox is it can also be deafening. To me, silence is so loud and distracting that I cannot arrive at an answer. I've never heard the voice of God there either. Usually it just means I'm alone." His voice sounded kind of sad or maybe wistful.
                  "Do you associate being alone with loneliness?" I asked.
                  "Yes." His answer was succinct. He answered without hesitation.
                  "Is that part of the reason for this?" I pointed between he and I.
                  "No. The reason for 'this' as you say is I am not lonely near or far from you. You are enough to occupy my mind to the point where I am not lonely when alone."
                  It was my