Thursday, 19 November 2015

Speed Hating

He looked at her with sadness. Not sadness at what he saw. He liked what he saw. A lot. Too much in fact. It was sadness at the realisation he didn't have the energy to try and make her feel the same about him. She wouldn't like what she saw. And to make her possibly like what she saw would take time and effort. Time was something he didn't really want to give. He wanted to take her hand and walk her out of there to the nearest estate agent where they'd find a property together. Then they'd go furniture shopping for their new place and they'd try out the sofas and beds, treading just the right line between endearing displays of public affection and OTT ones so as some old ladies walking past would comment on what a sweet couple they made. Then the buzzer went and he registered her look of bewilderment and something close to disgust. Their two minutes were up. And his dreams once again were turned to something even more ephemeral than dust.

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