“I’m not like you,” I say.
“How?” you ask.
“You’re expressive,” I reply. You don’t understand so I proceed to make things clear.
“Last night I nearly died in my sleep.”
“But how do you know if you weren’t awake. That can’t be possible.” You disagree.
“See. You just disagreed with me. You expressed your doubt.”
You chuckle, I laugh then silence befalls us and we savor the awkwardness.
“As you were,” you say while kicking a pebble out of your way.
“Oh yeah. I had a blocked nose so I didn’t take in enough air. My breaths were short. I almost died. I’m telling you. Believe me.”
“I’m not convinced.” I say. You take my danty little hands and cup them into yours. You look me in the eye and tell me that I’m going off topic.
“How?” I ask. You say nothing. I’m frustrated. It’s frustrating. You do this all the time. I bite my lower lip a bit too hard. The pain rushes to the very last of my nerves reminding me that I have a heart and it works.
“I almost died last night. I’m telling you.. I’m telling you this now because I love you.” You say nothing. The words bounce back and echo. My mouth is dry but my tongue has more to say.
“I’d have died without you ever knowing that. I love you.”
“I know,” you reply. No I love you too. I’m hurt but I fight the tears with an off topic dry joke.
“What did the cow say when he crossed the road?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither.” We laugh even though it’s not funny.
You don’t love me and it’s not funny. I’m nuts for thinking you’d reciprocate the feeling. The reality then dawns on me and I turn on my heel. You shouldn’t see the tears welling up on my face. I run for the bus across the road.
“Where you going?” you ask. As if you don’t know.
“Nowhere,” I say.