the silence that is broken by a stream of sincere compliments.
How curious the place that such a stream meets its source.
The things you say when I least expect them. When I’ve sorted it all out and you come along and flip the apple cart. My voice is the most beautiful voice. Warm, bubbly, no, not bubbly.
Effervescent, you clarify. That’s what it is.
And whatever agenda I had resolved over pancake and egg is lost. If I hadn’t been halfway into another story – one I was sharing with friends, a bit of time travel I was taking part in with them – I would have been putty in your hand.
We talk about ethereal and astral planes and formian creatures and bestiaries inaccessible. I say I can’t keep you.
We need to get together. We need to figure it out, you say.
We should talk more about that then, I reply, encouraged by how endlessly earnest he is, and hopeful that sleep doesn’t make all this a memory.