They say your eyes were closed the first time you smiled but they’re wide open now, shining, and I can’t tell if you’re delighted or just scared. Your teeth are clenched but you do that sometimes, when you’re excited, sometimes when you don’t know what to say.
So, I’m hesitating because you might be hesitating and the box in my palm is still firmly closed, frozen. My knee hurts and I remember, now, that I haven’t swept yet like you asked me to yesterday. I just know, when I stand up I’ll be a one-legged lint trap.
But, tell me. Tell me yes. Tell me you want to get frustrated with each other every week for another fifty years, sixty if we’re lucky. Tell me you want to believe I’ll follow through even if sometimes I don’t. Or, don’t say anything, just let that half-smile teeter into a grin. I’ll know.
This one was supposed to be for drabblerousers but it turns out the word limit is 100 not 150. Shit fuck damn. We’ll get ’em next time boys. (Sorry Peter).