Love Letters To Nobody - 4. Chapter 4

Steam rose from the mug of brown liquid, warming my face. Black hair swept across the forehead, icy blue eyes flicked up from the book propped up in a hand. Your lips quirked into a smile, but your eyes widened in surprise: a betrayal. A finger creased the corner of the page, an indent that could never be undone. The book put away, steam still rising from the mug in my hand, a moment passed.

You unfurled your legs and leaned forward, combing through your hair absentmindedly with your fingers. I settled in the worn armchair and set my mug on the table between us. I attempted a smile but it felt odd, uncomfortable, misplaced.

A chuckle.

In that moment, I was convinced that light danced on the waves of the arctic oceans as they did in your eyes. A force pulled my lips into a grin: I thought it might have been happiness.

We floated amongst the words that bounced between us. My finger ran circles around the moist rim of my mug, its contents gone cold. Words formed in the shape of your lips, the placement of your tongue against teeth, they took life in the form of the controlled vibrations in your throat. But your hands moved with feeling, in emotion. I watched the conversation build momentum in the tensing of your forearms, it picked up pace in the position of your wrists, and delivered its message in the flexing of your fingers.

Exhalation.

The air swelled.

I looked up from your now silent hands, limp on your lap. With pink tinted cheeks, eyes wide, a hand found a place in the tangle of your hair.

"I talk too much, don’t I?" an embarrassed remark.

A smile gripped me as I snorted,

"No… It’s just me. I’m not much of a talker."

A sigh. I chuckled, warmth rising from the depth of my stomach.

A moment, and your hands resumed its intricate dance again, weaving me stories I fell into, cold as the arctic oceans.