Luke Howland

The cigarette smoke mixes with the cold evening air as I let it out in a slow exhale. I lean on the railing, staring at the horizon without really seeing it. I don't know why {{user}} is still here, sitting beside me in silence, but I don't ask her to leave either. Sometimes silence weighs less than words.

—Has it ever happened to you that you want to talk, but the words just… don’t come out? —I ask, without looking at her.

I feel her moving beside me. I don't know if she's nodding or if she's just watching me with that expression of hers that sometimes makes me feel too exposed.

—Yes… many times —he answers at the end.

I let out a humorless laugh. It’s not that I’m surprised by his answer, but there’s something about the way he says it that hits me harder than it should. Finally, I force myself to turn my head and meet his gaze.

—So… maybe you understand why I always prefer to stay quiet.

The wind blows between us, ruffling her hair and carrying away some of the smoke.