I'll Tell You When Your Older
I
She liked him. I mean, as far as first dates go, this was splendid. He did all the talking, all she had to do was listen. Listen and learn. The diner was humble. He was too, and she could tell by the earnestness in which he spoke. As he rambled about growing up, pointless stories with subtle hints of subtext regarding a child who had friends but never a close one, she listened. Listened and learned. She was good at reading people, and she could tell that, through his naivety, that child lived on, along with the need for company, a companion, an other. She didn’t go on many dates but still was well accustomed to the ever-masculine search for a lay and a pretty woman who believed he was god (but only for a short time, really, things always need to be low-key). She listened, and heard loneliness. She learned, and saw genuine kindness.
