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"See, it's really just the little things. Its the small things that matter"

We hear that. Constantly, its everywhere. Movies, books, personal talk. Its dumb that some of the trues things out there are always there, under our noses, and we aknowledge them even forgetting what they mean.

It's the little things.

It is. It's the little things about a person that causes love. Its they that make anything meaningful. Two people can have the greatest things in common. Maybe they dont but they love to no end the large things of the other. Opinions, views, choices, the way they talk, think. What they've dealt with, what they've endured. How they'ev dealt with things. That which we think is the most meaningful, the big things like that, highlights of a life, that's where we think the seed of love is.

As usual, we're wrong. Think about it. How many people do you know who's highlight qualities meet your love requirements? Many more than you've the impression of, I assure you. Find a person who lives up to all highlight or big characteristics in that list, you'll probably find your favorite author, a good friend, someone you really like. I guarantee you wont find a list of people you're in love with.

That's not how it works.
Its the little things.

When that person cant get your flaws out of their head all they and vent get rid of a smile. The silly reaction of someone after they accidentally trip. Simply the way they say hello. Or the simple fact that throught the entirety of the day theres not a second that that person ins't itching for your presence. When they talk to you they stumble over and over over their words.

In this day and age the little things grown in amount, probably one of the few things of this modern world. When two people are in love, there's no such thing as unreachable. When two people are in love, anything that doesnt involve the other becomes a nuisance. Of course, that's an exageration, but it continues true. You cant keep them from popping in your head every 20 seconds, even if you're having a blast.

I was sitting on a bus a few days ago, in front of me sat a girl. Decent looking, obviously with a busy mind, and love practically ran out her eyes. THough she had no small amount of pockets, her phone was gripped tightly in her hand and her eyes couldnt stop glancing at it. You could swear you saw her bottom teeth pressed against their counterparts and her thumb and fingers couldnt stop fiddling against the phone.

I had been looking at her for a good while, she had been texting furiously for the entirey of our journey together. Public transportation is todays gypsy caravans. You wouldnt knwo if she was texing a single person or a million, until, of course, they stopped. Either the one person with whom she texted as if it was a contest had stopped replying, or everyone she was talking to conspired to stop simultaneously.

Those almost-five minutes were as if she had been waiting for a medical test result of the upmost urgency. At times her leg started bouncing, I swear I could feel the tapping under my own feet. She could have put a hole through her bottom lip.

I didnt have to imagine how she felt.

Four minutes and something seconds passed with her phone in mortifying silence. Even when my own phone vibrated, hers didnt. Four minutes she was in hell. Four minutes in it vibrated. I almost reached over to catch her eyes before they shot through her phone, hand, and the bus. This is what they mean by "theres nothing better or worse than hope." WIthout pressing any buttons, her slightly chapped lips formed a tight F, and then rekeased the quickest, lightest, shortest "shit" I've ever thought to have heard.

At this point I wanted to hunt down her boyfriend and beat him into replying, and beat him for not having warned her of his absence without due explanation.

Trust is important. And it's not the big things, the highlights, its the small things.

I didnt have to imagine how she felt. Seconds later, a godsend. A figure descended from heaven into her phone as if he would have been a whole new angel in her life. He could have been entering it for the first time while she knew their future together. Her fingers did what she dared not do in public with her arms and hugged her phone like there was nothing more important, nothing else on which her life depended. THe vibrations from the device shook her every skin cell, you could see it, she damn near exploded. She replied to the message as if all that explossive power was concentrated and transported to her fingers with the sole purpose of making contact with him. I couldnt help but smile. Not a single second passed and her response came, as if she knew for sure it wouldnt happen again. How could she? To this she replied faster than I've ever seen before. It was a flash of clicks. Long enough to maybe put in three orfour characters. I have to assume it was one of the next: "YES!" "Please" or "Duh." Because five seconds later, anxiety-free seconds, her phone vibrated and she pressed a single button, bringing it to her ear. Maybe I fill in too many blanks, maybe im all conjecture, but I dare anyone to disagree with me that he had just offered to call her.

The rest is almost too sweet. My eyes rolled, I swear, and I, being who I am, almost turned around and forgot she had ever existed. But I couldnt hate her quite enough. I've a habit of hating. You know what gets in the way of hate? Sympathy. I never knew that. Or is it Empathy? When you can relate.

In any case, I lost count of how many "I love you"s came and went. She had one of those loud phones, you know? the one you couldnt imagine has a speaker fuction built in because it's without it already damn loud enough to give a conference? I hate those phones.

She laughed at his stumbing and he laughed at himself between words and apologies. There was almost twice as many apologies as there were explanations since there was never a lonely "sorry." It was always "Im sorry, baby, Im sorry" like it was a really silly habit the man had. The poor girl could have cried, and here she was laughing and smiling, telling his over and over again that it was ok, that he owed her no explanation.

"Im sorry, baby, Im so sorry. My dad just called me out of nowhere and wouldnt shut up, did I say im sorry yet? He didnt give me a chance to pull my phone up"

"Its alright, it was four minutes!" I laughed. Four over five? Anyone who knows lies could have told thatwas a lie. If it really had been alright, she wouldnt have known it was four and just have gone to five. Little things, you know?

"Oh so you didnt miss me?" and he chuckled. The whole thing had become unbearrable.

"No I did! Its just, you know, its just four minutes, you dont have to give me an explanation every time you cant reply right away" As if her hell had never happened.

"Well, whatever, I felt bad about it. I sure as fuck missed your sexy ass voice"

"Mmmm, I missed yours. Maybe youll rearrange your priorities now" At this point, of course, I completely tuned out. Rolled my eyes, looked back out the window, and turned my music up.

She had been through a hell is made of threats. Every inch of your body aches to look around somewhere you havent looked before for a form of hope or assurance, and none find any. And in the face of this, a chilling, cold, realization comes. A realization of a possibility. A fear. A threat. Your body and mind have nothing to look at but the circling, freezing threats. That's what chills are. Hundreds of cold threats.

I didnt have to imagine.

Then, in a overwhelming barrage of innececities, (if that's a word) a twister without direction of non-solid reasons, it became to her as if it had never happened. His return, not alone, but accompanied with things she told him she didnt need, had returned life to her. I would call her a liar, but I dont know still if she believed what she told him. Her life had become twice as good and joyful as it had been before the four minute hell. All because of the little things. The little things. It felt good.

I looked at my phone.

I had to imagine... it must have felt good.