Apr 24
B4. Silence
He sits there, book half open. The cup steams.
We do not look at each other. And yet I feel that we are aware of one another.
I dry the cutlery. Counting the knives quietly in my mind. Each movement a small pretext to keep my gaze lowered.
He lifts his eyes briefly. I nod fleetingly. No words.
Three, four breaths pass. Then a smile, barely there, like a secret meant for no one.
I return it carefully. Just enough. So the silence does not break, but does not end either.
We speak no words. And yet we speak. In the space between us that only we can fill.
written with Miran & Emil Lichtrand
