He tried to look her in the eyes
but she focused her sight on something else,
further in the distance.
Her hands white, knuckles showing through
the flesh as though they were nothing but bare bones.
They knocked on the table in front of her,
rhythms heard hours earlier, yet still
playing in her head like repeated words,
repeated sentences that someone must have said.
In the middle of his question,
she stops and realizes what she is doing.
A thought arises and she hears the words again,
tap dancing, beating the syllables down
into her subconcious memory.
"I am crazy", she thinks.
But the words repeat repeat repeat.
He notices her knocking has increased.
"Are you even listening?"
Tap Tap Tap.
And in her mind, the continued phrase,
"I am not meant to be, I am not meant to be"
Louder and louder.
Her knuckles knock faster.
He reaches across the surface of the table
and tries to calm her hands.
But, in the moment inbetween,
the rhythm subsides and she moves
to rest them on her lap.
Then,with a monotonous tone, says,
"What was it that you asked?"
So, he speaks once more,
"Why won't you even look at me?"
her gaze set on the floor.
"I ache for something you could never be."