The Beach

She didn’t say much; a quality he found as disarming as her fair complexion and temperate demeanor.

He never noticed just how much armour he wore until he met someone who quite simply did not test it. It all seemed so heavy now- heavy and trite.

He obliged, and took her cue: deciding not to hear himself talk either. Dropping his armour, he breathed, and pulled a book out from his beach bag. But he found it difficult to ignore the curious creature lying next to him as he struggled to dig into the unforgiving text. Closing the book, he considered his company.

He was surprised to find a strange comfort in her silence. It wasn't demanding, nor was it cold; it just was. And getting used to it required a focus that he hadn't conjured for quite some time. In her he found no calculating, no scheming, no plot or plan: no offence or defense: she would not pose as an opponent to spar with over witty banter and clever anecdote. Instead, there was just the quiet and complex presence of another soul to consider.

With nothing to say he looked at her. She looked back at him and offered a smile behind dark sunglasses.

A moment later he dusted the sand from his shins, and walked down to the lake’s edge. There he would stand with his feet in the cool water and clear his thoughts watching the waves roll in and a tall ship blowing across the horizon some distance away.

If every person was a language, he was not yet familiar with her particular dialect, but he found her company both refreshing and intriguing. He took comfort knowing that he not only had the tools to learn her language- but now, the understanding that it would just take time and a little patience.