Pari

she laughs. 'and will you stop writing me these poems then? should you stop so suddenly when i have grown so fond of them?'

'dancing eyes', he thinks. 'her eyes dance.'

suddenly he cant stand it. he has to tell her. has to tell her in person, rather than through yet another letter. its as if his feet have needles urging them on and his wings have grown a thousand times, he lifts into the air with a single blow. he's focused, scanning along the way even as he travels to where he knows she'll be. he's memorized it. not through study but by simple interaction, when she waves at him in the moments they run into each other, of the way he sees her out of passing glace. the journey is short. he would have it no other way. he's trembling, he realizes. freezes, uncertain again. nerves ramp up and he summons nerves of steel. he's practicing his lines, practising his declaration, when she opens the door to her home.
its as if the world melts away. it slips out. 'i write those letters to you I'm so sorry i know-' and she's smiling already, laughing away the worries he held so dearly. she knows, because of course she does, knows from the way you act after a certain line gives you away, laughing because she knows your quirks just as good as you know hers. and its like water flowing down a river, like water flowing faster because it broke the sand next to it, deepened its waters and reach, became twice as strong.