There is comfort to be found in the sounds of a diner. The hint of background music lingering within the muffled conversations of strangers. The organized chaos of the waitstaff attempting satisfaction with every warm plate of familiarity.
He meticulously poured syrup over his waffles and leaned forward for the first bite of his breakfast. “Why can’t you just leave your fingers alone?”
She quietly glanced down at the blood welling up around her nail as the waitress returned with her order. “I don’t know.”
A simple truth found in a whispered reply. Like the great majority of her life, she had no answers and did not enjoy pretending that she did. There is no appeal to living a lie when you feel the truth of the unknown coursing through your veins.
She placed her bacon on his plate as she had done habitually for so many years and they resumed the meal in the silence of familiarity.