The awkwardness seemed to abate, as they both stood there. Others were talking. There was nothing really there to be said. She turned and left, and after a second of contemplation, so did he. He went on his path, silent - but then, he was always a recluse. Walking alone, and it seemed to fit - walking alone, getting on by. This life suited him. But there was a ringing in his ears, a cacaphony of things that weren't exactly words - or even feelings. Just noises, that wouldn't seem to leave him alone.
A melancholy rose in him like a sickness - a rising tide of absolute disgust as the stupid instrument in his pocket refused his bidding. He needed contact, even though he wanted to be alone - just a strange little conundrum, among his many. He had spent the evening with her, with some others, and they'd all said goodbye - but he'd stayed, silent, on a side. Forgotten, or left out - either possibility didn't really work for him. He needed to get out while he could.
He returned, plastered that little smile, and pretended that things were well. Made small two second plans with friends. Then he retreated into his room, closed the door on the outside world, and watched a movie with his headphones on - reveling and hating his solitude.
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Just a short thing that popped into my head. Not related to anything or anyone, and certainly not my state of mind. :-)
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