You told me my silence unnerved you the first time we met. That for a stranger you'd met only moments ago, I stared so far into your eyes, it was as though I was looking for what was behind them. We laughed about it later but I never stopped staring. Every day I looked at you like I'd never seen you before. You're the only stranger I've known for so many years.
And when you lie, it makes me smile. Because I know what you'll do before you do it. You'll talk faster, louder and you'll rub your right eye with your index finger and say my name too many times. And I'll keep staring at you nodding ever so slightly, letting you believe I believe you. Because I've come to enjoy the nuances of this charade. It's like we're in a movie scene, you're a much younger, much better looking Michael Douglas. And I never leave a performance before the very end.
You're not one to disappoint either.
Midway through the routine you'll realise you're being fidgety and slow down consciously. Except I should tell you you slow down just a touch too much. Don't enunciate so much, stare into my eyes with conviction for 1 second, not 3, and don't grip the table's edge so hard. That's it, you're doing good. Go on.
Tell me your life made little sense before me, tell me your loneliness only left when I walked into that room all those years ago. Now pause to let out a little laugh like you're remembering it - my blue dress, the way my hair flopped across my forehead, how you noticed the scar on my knee. You'd never seen anything lovelier, haha, I know. Not a word out of place. Have you got all of this written down somewhere? Because that would be too much, even for you.
I wish you'd hurry though, I feel slightly bored and I want to get back to my book. Come sit by me, hold my hand gently and pat it softly with your other hand. Pull me closer and throw your arms around me. Give me that reassuring hug and kiss the top of my head. I lov...that's right... I love you, yeah say it. So much? You love me so much? Well, that's new. Improv. Brava! Now collect me to your chest and we'll stare at the tailor's across the street, as he loses himself to the rhythm of his Singer machine.