The Chump

She was composing her thoughts, I could tell, I assumed, a regular Chopin after so much silence. "I never said it was a definite thing." Music for the ages.

"No," I said, "I know, and I never said you did." Still, that gut punch hits me all over despite its name. But I guess it's me's the chump for expecting a full night to hatch out of maybes.

I could tell she wanted to go. She didn't have to say it. I didn't so much want her to say things now. It was a half day too late, all I wanted was a confirmation yea or nay, I wasn't asking for a life or even day story, a lie would even do me.

I could tell a lot of things. I can tell a lot about people and might even tell a bit about myself. I keep it all on different levels, different walls of different layers. I can tell you what you hate to know about yourself and make you feel about as big as a man who'd fit right in my pants pocket. When it comes to the practice of making people feel small I've picked up a few things. Wish that means that I could say I've learned.

She didn't look at all too pleased with me. I realized I hadn't blinked in a while, that maybe I'd been looking at her too much. That maybe, after all these days and weeks, I'd been looking at her too much. Looking at this nice fine thing when all around me I could find some beauty. If I'd only stop, and blink, and move around once in a while.