she's petite. i choose to not tell what she looks like, for her sake. i need to be safe. she's quiet. she will not open her mouth. she looks around, with open eyes, acknowledging everything and everyone. she looks at me. studying me. trying to figure me out. she can see through my mixed up mind, i think. nobody's ever been able to do that, not even me. our cold eyes meet–well, my cold ones and her warm ones. her warm eyes soften mine, and I just can't look away. we speak to each other with no words. she hesitates to look away, before she does, so that it doesn't get awkward. she studies more people–oh, how I wish I wasn't awkward–before she sets her eyes on me again. this time, i study her. she's a book filled with many inky pages.
she is special. very.
she still holds her gaze on me, in this small coffee shop. i will always try to remember to be like her from now on. notice people with love.
"hello." i say...
she's deaf.
