Punto morto.

I told a story, one of my favorites.

It caused a hush. The only response, a sad look.

Quickly, to turn things around, I playfully swatted at him, asked what was wrong.

“Nothing… I’m just thinking.”

Another hush.

He then asked a question, and I vaguely answered because I didn’t want to delve into that topic.

He offered me an apology, for not signing a card.

“I wanted to say something, I really did. I didn’t know what to say without it sounding fake, so I thought the better option was to not say anything at all.”

I told him that he didn’t need to offer an apology. That it was fine, that I didn’t care. That it was sweet of him to explain himself.

It was then that it happened.

Another hush, this time with such an intensity that I nearly blushed.

Two feet apart and I could feel the volume betwixt us. I felt as if I were clinging to it, like I couldn’t pull away. Something so charged with static electricity that I knew the next move would cause an uncomfortable shock.

I saw certain things flickering in his eyes. I saw it spill across his face. I knew what it was, I’m not niave enough to pretend I didn’t recognize it, and he seemed content with knowing what I saw.

It was nothing more, and nothing less.

The volume grew and grew, further sucking me in. I didn’t want to leave the space, but I knew eventually something would have to break. Every bough does.

Everything around us busteled with activity. People moving quickly and mouths talking faster. But this thing, this moment, completely quiescent.

But then, I moved. I had to… I wasn’t sure if I could have anymore. I didn’t want to be gluttonous.

The volume turned into thin glass and fell sharply to the ground, leaving shards for me to sweep.

It was the nicest I have felt in quite some time.