Conversation

We are walking hand in hand through the mall. Not the large, impersonal one, but the one we frequented before. Walking with you this way is one of my favorite things, and I am just enjoying the moment when you slip your hand out of mine and drape your arm over my shoulders.

I wrap my arm around your waist and look up into your eyes. You're smiling. I smile back and relax into your embrace. Walking this way is unusual, but we've done it before. Nothing to worry about.

And then it happens. You ask the one question I've been dreading, "So have you started writing that story you promised me?"

"Um, no." "Oh? Writer's block?"

Now, that would be a valid excuse, because you know it happens to me often, but unfortunately it just isn't the case this time.

"Not really. I mean, I did have some trouble coming up with an idea, but you offered me a suggestion, and I started to think about it, but then I got caught up in reading someone else's journal, and before I knew it, it was time to go."

"I see." You're still smiling, but you won't meet my eyes, so I can't tell what you are really thinking. "So it's okay?"

You slip your arm around my waist and pull me just a bit closer. "Oh," you say, "It will be."