You became anxious, because you are afraid that you will begin to love me more. I can see the cigarette smoke leave your lips, before you step in the next room to light it.
You begin telling me of childhood happenings, because I am interested, and you are feeling comfortable again.
The slate-gray color of your shirt brings out the green inside of your hazel eyes.
I can not tell if your hair grows fast, or if we have not encountered each other in centuries.
I think we keep revisiting the past because we do not want the present, or future to end.
I am happy that our faces are not red anymore, and our smiles give us a short, subtle, emotional release.