perfect strangers

It suddenly occurred to me that just because they are two of my favorite people doesn’t mean that they want to spend this much time with each other. Dinner followed directly by brunch the next morning might have been a bit much to ask of near strangers.

The thought dawns as my mom and I approach Ted on the sidewalk in front of one of Ted’s and my favorite brunch places (the name of which I will omit only because I dread the day we have to wait for a table).

But they laugh and smile and this all seems too easy. I’m not used to caring much, but this seems to matter, and I’m not even nervous. Wow, I love french toast.

He walked us to the train, and I even held his hand.

~beatrix

public displays

Possessive hands in a crowded place.

Maybe I don’t mind.

We are here. Together.

I wonder if I could get used to this. His hands tangled in mine, at my waist, on my shoulders, in my pockets, pulling me to him. His face pressed into my hair. Whispering things, kissing me whenever he feels like it.

But these are his friends, people I don’t know. So I don’t have to care.

~beatrix