there’s always a problem with something. a problem she never understands. standing there, against the wall, pushing her back against the coolness, she shivers.
she stares at him in the reflection of the glass, wondering what he’s doing and what he’s thinking; ready to look away if he catches her. but his eyes never redirect into her direction, his body never turns to threaten her little spy project. he just stares at whatever is in front of him, whatever has captured his attention.
and she sulks.
it’s all about pride, she thinks. actually, she knows. she stays, stationery in her position against the wall, only moving her eyes so she can look at him, take a look elsewhere, and shift back. it takes all her strength to not move her body over, and lean on him instead of the wall. she shivers again.
questions, ideas, thoughts. so much to wonder at. there is nothing she doesn’t want to know. but there is also nothing that she would ask. so she stands, stumped, frustrated, but not angry; only subdued and deflated.
and when she sees him again, not just through the glass, she looks up, struggling to speak.
she tries to find something to say. but all she can think of is “i can feel you pulling away.”