You know it’s a special sunset when it changes the colour in your room.

The clicking and clacking of our keys create an oddly harmonious din, echoing off largely bare walls.

We sit, side by side, on the messily-made bed.

I’m writing.

You’re teaching yourself how to do something.  Reading manuals.  Watching videos.  Frowning.  Watching more videos.

I catch myself staring.

I like your make-up best at the end of the day.

I play a song on my computer.  Low volume.  It’s a song that reminds me of you.  As most do.

You are trying not to be irked by it.  You’re probably unaware that you’re tapping your foot on mine.  Well, on my shin.  My legs go on for three days longer than yours.

It’s like the carefully selected, and expertly applied, colours have realized they’ve been giving assistance to a face that can more than stand on its own.  They fade a little.  Into the background. Where they belong, really.

“What are you doing?” you ask without looking.

“Baseball pool.”

“Babe… you have to write.”

“I’m waiting for the mood to strike.  Moods are mysterious creatures.  Some would say mythical…”

“You’re a pain in my bum.”

“That’s just so you don’t forget I’m here.”

I flash you a sheepish grin, that I hope will continue getting me out of trouble.

I don’t really have a back-up plan.

You smile with your entire face, in one of the most amazing examples of teamwork I’ve ever seen.  Dimples.  DIMPLES.  Come on.

You shake your head.

You put your hand on my arm.

You abruptly go back to your studying.

Serious face.

You bite your lip.

I still can’t believe you rarely put lipstick on them.

Perfect colour.

Perfect shape.

Perfect softness.

Lips that, when not kissing me, lovingly wrap around the most beautiful voice and words that melt me to my core.

I sigh and turn back to my laptop.

I wonder, for a moment, why I didn’t tell you what I was actually doing.

I could have.


I suppose that I just want the words to be as wonderful a surprise for you when you read them, as they are for me right now.

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