The brownie sizzler has gone quiet. The whispy, white ice-cream dreamily slides off the sides.
And we stir our lemon teas in silence.
The action of stirring, is actually buying time to organize whatever it is in our heads, into meaningful conversation.
An act of keeping the hands busy, as higher faculties engage themselves in a very precise science – the construction of argument.
Beefcake. I point at the assortment of bulging muscles.
It’s a typical him posture. He leans against the backrest, arms crossed across his chest. A seemingly relaxed position. Yet, his leg shakes. Tense. Astute.
He takes offense, pouts a little, and smiles. Cuts. This boy is all about semantics.
He blinks, It’s normal for me to worry. He purses his lips. Bites them.
He falls into a million little pieces, under the shroud of his pride.
He can deal with this. It’s never unsurmountable.
Easier said than done. He snorts. Half-smiles.
Twenty four years of bitterness. Bottled. Waiting to explode. Pickled in brine.
I heed protocol. Glue the gapes with well-constructed argument. Lull the storm to sleep.
Maybe what bothers you, is the unexpectedness of it. Her reaction’s in the grey area. Not ugly. Not nice. I shrug. It’s something you didn’t figure out first.
Maybe. He frowns. It just feels weird. And I can’t help feeling it.
The sugar sachets read Trust.
Because no amount of words can undo things. Because things happen.
Because things are outside the realm of reason.
This is my only argument – no amount of reasoning, even inside your own head, can change things.
Let it be. Please.
Much love. Because Evil Twin just might know what’s best. =)