Silence

We sat there, not having spoken for thirty minutes. "God... does she even love me?" I thought. I remembered all those years ago, when we never stopped yapping. About anything. Grass growing. Paint drying. We could talk for hours. And here we were, saying nothing. She was buried in her book, as though I didn't exist. I wanted to say something. But why should I make the first move? She should say something. I'd been sitting here for forty-five... "It's raining." She said it out of nowhere. "Oh... it is, isn't it?" She smiled, and went back to her book. I didn't want to say anything either. I felt loved.