She laughs with her mouth open. It’s endearing. And the look on her face - chin down, raised brows, sly smile - is more than that. You’re very grateful.
Pause.
Harold Pinter.
Not long, not heavy, not psychological. Just enough - a beat - to think about what you said or will say. Or what she said. Typically, less than ten seconds.
"What were we even talking about?" she says, "Oh, yeah..."
We go from silence to chatter, and the chatter might as well be silence. We were, we are, talking about nothing. And it drowns out everything else we should say. Do you think about me? Do you know how I feel? Do you feel the same way? Do you? I’m naked here, I’m laid bare, look look. I wonder if she has the same questions.
I clear my throat, she stops. I say, "Keep talking."
She’s better than you at everything - except love. And you both know it.
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