Quiescence

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.
--H. L. Mencken

She knew what would happen if he reached out and brushed the hair off her face.

But he didn't do that.

It was a classic Pinter moment. It was impossible to have a moment without all the subtext. Words have always gotten them into so much trouble. Everything between them had to be said in silence because the emotion behind what they really wanted to say is just too overwhelming. Silence is an acquired taste. The more complicated life becomes, the better it is to learn to say nothing.

She knew he didn't think about her the way she thought about him. And she's cool with that. But for a moment there, it was kinda nice to pretend that they actually did care.

Or was it real? Has it come to a point where he had to start second guessing everything he knows? What he though he knows, in contrast to what she dreams of. She dreams, he believes. Can they acheive any of it?

He didn't know what came over him. If it was the soft glow of the incandescent light illuminating the side of her face. Or the soft tapping of rain on the panes.

He reached over and brushed the hair off her face...