Ramblings

"You're an enigma," he said, reaching a hand out to brush a stray strand of hair on her cheek. "I can't seem to read your personality at all."

She stared back steadily, her face an empty mask. There was nothing she felt like saying. A million thoughts shot by her mind, none of them standing out yet all of them catching on.

"For example, I could touch you, like this," he cupped his hand on the side of her face, gently, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, "and you don't react. No smile, no flinching; I swear, you don't even blink. What's going on now? What are you thinking about behind that stoic mask?"

Sighing, she turned her face, raising an arm to brush his hand away. She absolutely detested the feeling of someone touching her. Physical affection was not a necessary part of her life, nor would she ever make it so. It was inconceivable to her that just by wrapping their arms around her waist someone could simply enter into her life. Some called it cynical. She called it reality.

Looking down towards the ground and the tip of her shoe, she chose not to answer for awhile, leaving the unbidden silence hanging between them. Moments alone with another person, one-on-one, made her life difficult. Sometimes, she wished to be alone for her thoughts to consume her until the wind whisked them all away and she could deal with people again.

"You don't make this easy, do you?" he asked, frustration lining his tone. "Why can't you tell me what's wrong? I look into your eyes, and I don't find sadness lingering there. You're always standing off on your own, yet I don't feel as if you are lonely. It's almost like it would be wrong for someone to be standing next to you. You carry yourself as if you were made to be so independent. But you're not happy. I know you're not content."

"Why does it matter?" she questioned curtly, running her fingers through her hair and pulling her bangs back. "I'm doing fine; I'm living my life. Why are you trying to poke into it? Maybe this is who I am made to be. I'm not that difficult to know. You're just making it out to be more than it is. So you know what? Just drop it. Leave it alone, because it's not that big a deal. I'll figure it out. Get over it. Go on with life. I can find a way to make myself happy and you don't have to worry about it. Worry about yourself for a change. Maybe then you can figure out why you're so unhappy about me when I don't need you to be."

Pushing herself off the concrete ledge, she stood up and swiftly crossed the balcony to the door. With a solid yank, she pulled it open and disappeared inside, the glare of the setting sun on the glass hiding her from his sight.