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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A descriptive short short, following the short story "Talk".

Submitted: April 21, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 21, 2017



She sat silently, her face melting into absent-mindedness, I watched as she forgot my presence, our talk, and all the other things concerning the moment. Conceding to beauty, I stayed silent too, and I kept on watching.


I started with slow, silent things. I watched her shoulders, how they bent in all the right places, making smooth edges. I watched her eyes, fixed on the landscape, they stood still but they were liquid. I watched the landscape, the far away mountains. I watched her smell, sweet and subtle and fresh like meadows, I watched the honest, weary sea, and I watched the sand reminding me of home, I watched the endless horizon. I watched the silence that named this moment.


Then I moved on to swift motions, the setting of the sun, the calm-red sky, gentle clouds and her chest slightly moving up and down, the slow harmony which dances so gently around repetition, but never repeats itself. I watched the humming progression of slow movements. All these things, if you’re not watchful, seem still.


Accompanying the silence and the sound, and all the still things and swift movements, I watched the ever-changing wind. I watched her finger tapping on the old wood. I watched her blinking, which is a beauty so carelessly ignored. I watched the glittering waves, I watched a bird soaring through the sky, I watched bugs soaring through smaller skies. As the world came into speed, I watched my thoughts, my uncertainty, my questions, all rise and fall in an instant, I watched a mind resembling hers, made up of the same words, I watched the futility of communication.


I watched as nothing happened. Nothing happens all the time, it happens slow, it happens fast, it steadily happens every moment, nothing is full of amazing small things, it is full of wonder, it is always very easy to see, all it takes is a watchful eye.

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