this thing called love

her number was unlisted.
you couldn't
find her anywhere.
no social media
whatsoever,
no face book or my
space,
just a large empty
space
is where she dwelled.
she hated to talk
or text on the phone,
or in person.
silence was her happy place.
no tv.
no radio in her car.
her house was in the woods,
deep
in a maze of unmarked streets,
each and every one
unpaved.
she rarely visited,
and when you went
to her house
you slept in separate
beds, in separate
rooms,
on different floors.
you hardly knew her
she hardly knew you.
but it lasted almost
three years.
strange, but true,
this thing called love.