My man, the one that accepts my morning breath, is sitting across from me on his laptop. It's a funny scene, really. It is quiet - with only the voices of the commentators of the Braves game and the tap tap of my fingers. It isn't quite normal for us.
We chatter.
We blab.
We talk a lot of nothing.
And we talk a lot of everything.
We're talkers.
Period.
But, he's busy. And I consider myself the same.
And you know what's super duper beautiful?
It doesn't matter.
Because the more comfortable you are in silence, the more you realize how you couldn't want more.
And that's what I'm talkin' about.
P.S.
I got hit in the face playing volleyball today. Hardcore? Pathetic? You pick.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
You got hit in the face with a volleyball - Are you okay? Did Eric beat 'um up or did he do the hitting?
ReplyDeletehaha. just a little bit of a bloody nose. no big deal. and no, it wasn't eric, it was an indian guy with a sssseeerious serve. ouchie.
ReplyDelete