Uneverything

I sat across from him. I placed my hands on the cool surface of the oak table. He seemed to be miles away. I looked up and realized no matter how close he was, he was always miles away. Funny.

I put my hands around the mug with the flowers. The coffee smelled so good, but I didn't take a sip. I didn't enjoy the time we spent together when he was in his pensive mood. I felt neglected and maybe a little jealous.

I waited for him to talk, but he didn't. We just say there for a while, sharing an immensely comforting silence and stealing glances at each other. We both knew that the other was stealing glances, too. What a way to pass time.

I hesitantly ran my finger up the spine of my book. It wasn't my book, really. A friend lent it to me. I smelled it, and he smiled. He always smiled when I smelled a book, and I never asked why. We both knew why without having to tell each other. Silent conversations? I wouldn't know..

I took a sip of the still steaming coffee and opened the book with the tips of my fingers. I started reading. I lost myself until reality snapped its fingers when my coffee finished.

I looked up at him. He was staring at me. I shrugged and walked off to fill my mug again. I didn't sit down when I got back. I took my book and found a spot under the window. I wondered if I should sit or leave. He told me to sit, and I did.

Again, I waited for him to say something... anything at all, but he didn't. I kept on reading, and he filled my mug whenever it emptied itself. He was staring at me the whole time. I wasn't uncomfortable. I wondered why for the first moments, but then I mentally smirked at myself. I reminded myself that I knew him too well. I knew well enough to know that he was staring for the right reason, whatever it was... if there was one, actually.

I tried to imagine what he was seeing while he stared at me. What did he see? Strands of wavy hazel hair pinned back to reveal a face absorbed with concentration. Brows about to knit. A hand holding the book open. Another hand curling its fingers around the mug. Grey shorts sinfully ending ten centimeters before moisturized knees. A brown tank top hinding under a peach tank top both revealing lazy arms. Legs crossed over each other, the toes of one foot playing with the edge of a gigantic vase. No, he saw something else.

I coudn't put my finger on it. What did he see? Did he see himself forty years ago? Did he see something I didn't see in myself? What was it that kept him staring for hours without making me uncomfortable? Why am I afraid to ask? Would it hurt?

I glanced at him and smiled. I realized that I didn't ask because I wasn't ready for the disappointment my question could bring. I closed my book and walked over to him. I kissed his forehead and put my arms around him. I wondered why I loved him so much.

He asked me if I wanted to eat. That was his hint that the rest of the day would be normal.

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S, Happy Birthday;*

Aj, you know better:)