Sly gazes.
Passing glances.
Any steady form of eye contact. Only
if she willed it.
She could often feel his ardor
course through her whole being.
Away and afar.
Or in close proximity.
Any ruse for the latter.
Just to be around. Her presence.
Comfortable silences. Just being.
Or free-flowing conversation.
Craving for either form of
communication.
To unravel the enigma she is. One thought or gesture at a time.
He couldn’t help but convey.
And she couldn’t help but notice.
What
is it that they call it?
A
spark? Chemistry? Dynamics?
It was so obvious to her, and to him.
And yet never to anyone else around.
