Many years older than she is, he was looking into her eyes. His were watered with candid love, hers were with admiration. The kind of love you feel for innocent people, and the kind of admiration you feel for those whom you respect. As eyes continued to converse, her features faintly shifted into askant blush. She went after her reserve with a question.

“What is it?”, she said after humorously clearing a dry throat.

“You’re young..”, his smile unfurling into sun.

She was silent.

“You were young too. You were happy once, I can tell. What happened to you?”, she said, in overt innocence.

“What happened?”, he repeated. Smile now a slow sunset..

She nods.

“Mistakes happened..”

And then his look was broken, along with her peace.

He felt it.

“But I’m not unhappy, btw”, he said to the ground..

“How so? When even your eyes blink so painfully slowly..”

“Happiness changes with age.”

“It does?”

“Yes. Only your version of happiness is the most beautiful of them all.”

She thought about this and hid a smile.

“This is why I was looking at you that way”, he said.

“What way?”, she wanted to hear it.

The you’re beautiful way, he thought.



4 thoughts on “Reality

  1. إحساسي بهذه القطعة تماما كإحساسي في يوم من أيام المذبحة عندما قرأت عن شخص مات. . . فقط مات بلا رصاصات اخترقت جسده ولا غيرها. كذلك هي هذه القطعة، شيء من المشاعر، برهة من الحنين. .. ببساطة وجمال.

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