He slid his fingers along the surface of the rock, nestled under an inch of still water. His pulse sending shock waves along the undisturbed glass of the liquid.
I was familiar with that sensation.
He etched his initial, then mine in the green moss. His face never left its contemplative state. I wanted to shake him, watch panic or fear or humor or passion light across him. To show him how he left me with an affect, simply with his breathing. But the soft sun, fell weakly through the thick shade trees and obscured him. He was calm, always calm.
And I? Was left to wonder if I would ever be calm again.