tomatoes like apples.

today i sat outside the library in my stunna shades and read a book and felt happy about the birthday of life and love and wings and the sun. while i was sitting there, a couple next to me talked, and i listened. i felt invisible. i wasnt invisible, but almost.

she brought him tomatoes. she was nervous to bring him the tomatoes, i could tell from her voice. he had said they were his favorite a while back, and she remembered. he laughed because she gave them to him and he said no knife to slice them? and she kept saying, i thought you eat them like an apple. then he would say thank you. i could tell from his voice he wanted to say thank you for real, it means a lot, but he couldnt say it. it was stuck inside. she kept apologizing for not bringing a knife. he ate the tomatoes. all of them. you could tell they were a little bit in love. probaby not even dating, but a little bit in love.

he kept asking her if she liked tomatoes. she said yes, but not just plain like he was eating them. she would laugh nervously. he would repeat the question. they talked about tomatoes for one half hour. i listened to the whole conversation without ever seeing what they looked like, busy being invisible. i didnt really want to see them, just listen. i liked listening to the ebb and flow of their voices, the anxious undertones, her nervousness at presenting him with this gift, at revealing that she cared, his pleasure to receive it. all unspoken, and so, so beautiful.

it was a perfect dialogue for a perfect afternoon. tomatoes eaten like apples, giving and receiving, laughing and loving, and me invisible beside it all.