“An hour to go…”
Sixty minutes left. One more hour until I get to feel the tips of his finger trail across my arm.
3,600 seconds, give or take, until I see the corner of his mouth involuntarily grin because he’s happy to see me.
One twenty-fourth of a day until I can run my hands through his hair…silently letting him know how much I missed him while he was gone.
“Write about two characters who have known each other for a long time, and give one of them a secret”
She was quiet. I could tell she had something on her mind. You don’t grow up with someone, share the same toys and books, climb up trees together, without being able to realize when the other person is chewing through something. But it was more than that. She was very protectively and cautiously keeping whatever it was to herself. It was almost as if she had folded whatever it was very delicately and gently placed it away, with an odd sense of revery. Any conversation that seemed to be leaning towards her and how she was feeling she would tactically maneuver in another direction. She would close herself up, slowly occupying less and less space, almost as if she were trying to be invisible; unseen.
What could it be? Why wouldn’t she talk to me about it? I always told her everything – let her into my life as sisters should. Why didn’t she feel like she could do the same with me?