Hanging Around

And he had to ask just so he’d know. “What if someone told you they loved you?”

She looked at him and smiled, “that’s nice”.

“Nice? What do you mean ‘that’s nice’? Wouldn’t you say it back?” He asked. His voice, gentle. His voice was always gentle.

There was quite something mysterious how she found such questions about love very amusing. She felt that love shouldn’t be biased. Men, she thought, have got to stop thinking about considering every other woman they meet as “potential partners” just because… well, they’re women. And they’re men. Because they’re opposites.

Men.

She thought, grinning mischievously in the back of her head. Always have malicious thoughts.

Nevertheless, she smiled at him. He loved that smile. The one that he knows well. The one that he knows something smart would be coming out of her mouth.

“I wouldn’t. But way before they felt they needed to say that they loved me, I’ve loved them already. I just don’t say it. That’s all.”

He pondered a moment at what she just said, “how could you say that? How could you say you’ve loved them first?”

She looked up at the sky, which she always does, she was fond of the stars. Every night, if she gets a chance, she never misses to look up. “I’d have to love them first before they loved me. Otherwise, how can anyone love me if I hated them so much?”

She was now looking at him. He was staring at the children across the bench they were sitting. He  tilted his head to look her in the eyes. “What happened to ‘the more you hate, the more you love’?” He joked.

She gave a laugh enough to acknowledge his humor and playfully said “That’s why I hate you so much. And that’s why I always remind you of that.”

He always didn’t know if how much truth were on the jokes she made about them. But he sure was glad they were friends. He knew she was significant in his life. She was always there and he cared too much about her. They give each other hugs and sometimes hold hands. They were thankful for each other even if most of the time they spend arguing and bashing one another. Up to the point where, if they were talking to someone else, they would make you feel the most insignificant person the world can live without.

He held her hand. She took it and placed it on top of his palm and played with his fingers. She always does that. He let her play with his fingers. He always does.

“Dinner?” He asked,
“Okay. Where d’you wanna eat?”

Those two. Always love to keep conversations hanging.