Us

As they sat at their favorite table looking out towards the ebbing sea, she immersed in a book and he scribbling tiny notes into the margins of printouts, their one-ness was palpable.
She’d look up from her book occasionally, dreamily, into the distance and then with mind a thousand miles away, her eyes traversing a panorama - they would come to land on him. He would sense her half-present gaze and look up. Eyes meeting for the umpteenth time in a moment so comfortable in its skin, so special because it was not special; their chemistry was not special, it was everyday every moment.
And in that special-non-special moment, she would think the Universe.

She would think about when she took her first step towards him – it was on her balcony several years before she met him, while reading that book with that Nietzsche quote (pretty much the only Nietzsche quote she knew, lest you think she was something else). That is when she started to become what she became, picking up many other things along the way, all which made her, her. Her and Him. Brought to a grinding halt as they recognized each other across the crowded dance floor of life.
She would think about what she liked about him and whether it was love and what was love. She was a notorious one for that – for too many questions and barely any answers. Or maybe some answers.
She would think about her life as an erratic moody jigsaw puzzle, changing shape every month every day. And about him being that last piece, shaped & honed as if with special intent to fit her jagged, rugged, capricious edges.