Stop looking at me.
It’s weird but at the same time I don’t want you to stop looking at me. There’s comfort in your eyes that I never thought existed. I just smile back because you make my words numb. You make such a shallow reason for staring deeper than it’s supposed to be.
It’s late, the café was about to close. It was just us and a stranger in the corner reading a book. Our coffee is gone; the lights outside the window are still bright because the city never sleeps at night.
You make me feel, not just emotions but your heartbeat. I can feel your heartbeat through our interlaced fingers. Even with the city noise, the murmurs of strangers and mundane sounds of our breathing I can hear your heartbeat. It’s following its own metronome, keeping a steady tempo.
“What?” I caught you just staring at me again.
“What?” you replied smiling as if I’m used to it. I’m not.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
You shrugged your shoulders and held my hand tighter.
“Can’t you answer my question properly?” I asked.
“Didn’t I?” you have a habit to answer my questions with questions.
“You didn’t answer it.”
You kissed me and said, “Not every answer has to be verbal.”
I smiled. You’re still staring. I didn’t flinch or look away, time stopped in that cliché moment. Movies and books describe these sorts of moments in the cheesiest way possible that I thought it can never exist. The cheesiness didn’t mix well with my own bitter reality.
Here’s the best part, you make it less bitter. Reality isn’t as cynical as it was and my fantasy is not as dreamy as it seems.
I leaned in and kissed you, “And not all conversations have to be verbal either.”
You looked around with your mischievous little smile and pulled me out of the café door. I swear as we walked through the crowded night lit street, your eyes were still on me.