Gone, Gone, Gone

He and Her

She looked slightly down, and just away from him, laughing at something he'd said no doubt.

He looked at her the way one looks when one feels unobserved. 

Without abandon, looking completely enthralled; a look rarely seen outside his usual music-playing, when he seemed most at peace.

And she, lost in her own mind, counting her breaths and steps and how many times she can step over each tile line without breaking her stride, doesn't notice.

Ignoring his affections. Ignoring or not-noticing or denying.

And I hate her for it.