Notes

They sat down over a meal of ice plated oysters, drizzled with fresh lemon.
They conversed with no vocals included.
Just slight dancing of face muscles and occasionally, a head nod.
Occasionally, stealing glimpses and occasionally, returning them back.
She analyzed his stubble and glanced back at the shells; the resemblance of the textures was slightly striking. Her thoughts trailed down the curve of his Adam's apple and carved a big question mark: Is he like an oyster…soft but rough on the outside?
A timed smile creeped on the edge of his mouth as if mockingly responding. He reached out for his savored glass of pomegranate juice - a preference she often inquired - tilted his head back slightly and gulped, his eyes steadily fixated on her as she continued observing his now bopping Adam's apple.
She shifted in her chair, her gown following the rhythm. His pupils caught the reflection of the iridescent jewels.
They looked back down at their plates again and simultaneously clinked their forks against them, as they reached for further bites.
The atmosphere was fused with the smell of burning candle wax, old mahogany and the muffled sound of outdoor traffic.
They found comfort in this custom, and neither anticipated the silence to break.
It was tranquil and soothing…their company has always been like this.
And when they parted, separation was only the exodus of their thoughts.