"Tell me about despair, yours-- and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.”
Meanwhile the world goes on.”
You don't see her, when your back is turned and she looks at you like you are at the center of some great mystery. You do not see her draw a breath to speak before you turn to look at her. You do not see all the small thoughts that roll into the one big decision: that you are worth her time, little as she may give you.
Ever since you were young you've wanted to be some great mystery. You'd imagine yourself in your shop, sharpening blades as your uncle charmed the populace from the counter. Excuse me, sir, someone might say from beneath the canopy outside, as the forge chugged along in her endless patience, that young man, in the back-- I must take him on an adventure of grave importance. We need him. We need him desperately.
You think all you might want is to be needed-- and, barring that, just chosen--which is why it is so terribly, terribly sad that you do not see her until the moment has passed.
The book floats into her grasp, chased by another smile that creeps across your mouth at a snail's pace. She smiles, too, in one motion that takes her eyes from yours to the book between the two of you. Not very interesting, is it? She asked.
Your smile widens. You like girls that don't ask hard questions. You like girls that look like a dreamscape fog and girls that smile like a morning glory folding itself for the evening and girls that huff in libraries.
"I don't know," you start-- and shrugging is your style, so you do. "You might get points for having been literally color-coding. I say that's interesting." It is a welcome stroll away from the storm in you, the strong winds and the dark and the rain. You walk out of the cold into the bright meadow full of wildflowers and lilac trees that is--- anything else, honestly.
She asks you, are you a smith? And a cold breeze blows through before the sun breaks over your face again. Is it exhausting, to be this way? How long can you go on, worrying like this? How sustainable is it? You skirt over the question with a quick, "I am, but first, where are you from? I'm curious what you think of the language, in that case."
You smile, again, wide enough that it seems exactly as real as it is, which is to say not much. "If you'll indulge me, that is."
@Mesnyi
