Sometimes even the whisper of you is enough. I know when the conversation is going to turn your way, I can tell. Something that someone says, or leaves unsaid, or hints at unsubtly and with a bit of red in their cheeks. I'm not stupid, even though I guess everyone must think I am by now. I know when it's going to happen. But it doesn't make it any less harsh, any less brazen, any less bold and brassy like Mrs Elton at Emma's wedding. You would have hated that reference, because you hated Jane Austen, or at least you did. I should have let that be the first sign.
When the conversation turns to you I never know quite what to say. I'm torn between wanting to hear more and never wanting to hear your name, needing to know and never needing to know you again. Curiosity may be an underrated virtue but it's one I could definitely live without, thank you very much. It gets me into trouble, always, and it gets me into situations that I can't bluff my way out of. I sit there as the conversation turns your way and I listen. I have to. I hear everything, the good, the good, the good (when was there ever bad and ugly when it came to you, hmmm?). In fact, the stories aren't so bad, they tell me something and that's important. It's the silences I don't like. Even the whisper of you is enough.
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