She’s good at silences.

She’s good at silences. I noticed this at the same time I noticed that I might love her.

She sat across from me on the morning train to Amsterdam; quiet.

Like a wild cat lazing…hiding her violence; totally and completely comfortable with me watching her, as she looked out into countryside rolling by. Just…quiet.

Memories of the loud, wet, drunk nights were distant; our shared mistakes didn’t define this moment but merely amused. No, this wasn’t a moment tied into any particular past or with any hope of a future.

It was a moment where I knew, somehow, that this brief moment in transit of complete silence and beauty is all that I need to justify this existence.

If ever I felt terrified and in awe of our silent peace — it was now.

She’s good at silences.

Unfortunately it is one of the most scariest and comforting things about her.