I politely asked if you'd have tea with me. You shook your head, stared at me with those goddamned enormous things you call your eyes.
"I can't enjoy a cup of tea with you. You'd digress nastily about everyone you can't stand and my tea will taste just as bitter," you explained. "And as far as my fondness goes for you, I can't stand a cup of bitter tea."
There was silence.
Normally I'd look at you incredulously, as if your mouth was created to subtly and indirectly insult me, over and over again. But I wasn't feeling normal today and I politely smiled your way, as if sarcasm was your most characteristic charm.
You adjusted yourself in your seat by the window, folded your legs and arms, then gazed out the window, wordlessly. I always thought you fit in this picture. You in your room, blankly staring out the window, and any thoughts or emotions craftily masked by indifference. But I thought about how it made your room seem smaller and how it closed in the distance between you and me. You by your window and me on your desk, scrawling the certain words that came out of your mouth because you've found a way to utter them so goddamned beautifully.
Normally I'd be fixated on the last thing you said, and I'd probably scribble "cup of tea" on some scratch paper because I would've liked the way you've said it. But again I wasn't feel normal today, so I politely stood up and walked to your door. I stood under the door frame, looked at you while you continued to look afar and away. I politely said nothing, politely smiled your way, then walked down your hallway, down the stairs, and out of your front door.
Normally, once I stepped outside, I'd look up to your window to see you as still as you were when I walked out of your bedroom door. But I wasn't feeling normal today so I continued to walk down the street and politely never looked your way again.
