we both simultaneously cringe at the first hint of those similar sounds. visible reflexive reactions of distaste plaster our faces in the form of crosses, creases and folds.
are we protecting ourselves from the external or preserving our internals out of instinct?
i begin to think about the purpose of miniscule, microscopic mannerisms, about the particular peculiarities that exist in the space between.
the cold, dead void.
i wishfully watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear; her hand drawing a question mark in the air as if she were a calligraphist, gaze extended to the endless, barrier-less azure blue ocean.
we dissolve into each other.