That delicious smell of renewed anticipation fills the bitter air, wavering over her decisive choice of words; plucked carefully from their rightful place. There is very little to be said, as opposed to the copious amounts of thoughts flitting through her decision filter. It was a simple, tantalising question, to which she damn well knew the answer, however wrong or misunderstood.

"Miss me?"

Oh if only that luxurious feast of words bubbling in her throat could make an escape, instead of the inert mutter and blubbering that fits somewhere between no where and confession. With so many eyes watching with a judgemental frown that clearly speaks of disapproval, she cannot answer with the colorful bouquet of hand-picked words she chose for him to devour. He will have to wait until her time skips the social frown before he will receive her truthful and far more elaborate and comprehendable response.

There is a simple answer to a simple question: