The night crept across our feet silently, eavesdropping on the words uttered through our lips, stained with wine as cheap as it was bad. On a dingy flight of steps we sat, our knees tucked into chest; watching passers-by watching us before disappearing into cabs. The dead of the night deserved a knowing sigh.
I looked over, and across my shoulder sat a beautiful woman. Her hair was pushed back to an effortless knot, revealing a set of features that complimented one another eloquently. A polite smile hung across her lips, telling of a tale that needed to be told; a sorrow that didn’t want an audience.
“Do you remember that part in the movie,” I broke the silence, “the part where he told her that feeling fine wasn’t an emotion?”
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“Well, I’m fine.”
