Mangled Frantics.

You were deep into conversation with an acquaintance at about the same time that I'd tuned in. Your eyes flickered and sparkled excitedly as you described something with such passion, but I'd missed what you were talking about. Your hands flitted about as you drew with an invisible pen on invisible paper to illustrate the details of your vision. I tried my best to follow your actions and be in sync with your thoughts, but I simply could not understand what you were trying to demonstrate. As I tried to figure out your movements, you suddenly sighed, and threw your head back in a loud, comforted sigh. You were happy, and so encouraged by whatever it was you had been talking about for the past five minutes. I'd given up on trying to understand what you were getting at, and instead I gazed into the distance; a child was begging her mother to go home, tugging at her hand and trying to run with it. I chuckled at the gory thought that the child's mother's hand would suddenly fall off, and the child would run with just a hand, but quickly distracted myself by looking over at you again.

Your head was still drawn back, and you were staring at the ceiling, which was matted with perhaps a million small dots that scattered in a wavy pattern across the ceiling. It was impossible to count more than 10 dots at a time, and I could not comprehend why you would try and count them, even if it was just for fun. I looked at your awkward posture, and I found myself having a sudden urge to punch you in the stomach. For a split second, I retracted myself, but my impulse was too strong for me to resist, and my fist collided into your stomach with a soft thump. You groaned at what I did; it didn't hurt, it was just an awkward feeling because you were in such a strange position. You pulled your head up, and stared me down, glaring with furrowed eyes and the slightest smirk at the corner of your lips. I giggled at your struggle to be angry with me, and smiled right back at you. Eventually you'd give up being annoyed and forgive me. And you did, only you did something I was completely taken aback by.

My hands were clenched against the chair for support as I leaned myself closer and further to you in a rocking motion. You kicked my chair a few times in an effort to make me lose my balance, and on a number of times you almost killed me. I glared at you for those times, but I kept rocking myself back and forth, muttering that 'what doesn't kill me makes me stronger' whilst also throwing a teasing smile at you. After you'd stopped trying to make me lose my balance, you stood up. I watched on as you moved across the chair, and around the row to meet me in front again. Within one second, you nagged me to come with you; I was going to anyway, but you suddenly placed your hand on top of mine, and pulled. I had a sudden dejavu moment of my thoughts running parallel with what I'd previously envisioned, but instead I was flung out of my chair. You continued to walk quickly, holding my hand, whilst I stumbled behind you, trying to find my feet. You'd kept a firm grip on my hand; that is, until I suppose you noticed that people were looking at us. As soon as you'd made that observation, and made sure that I'd found balance and began to walk normally, you'd let my hand go.

But, boy, what are you trying to hide? Your plan is transparent, and yet you're still playing tricks.

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Play me a song, it's been too long since I've heard you sing.

LOL, Sarah.