He liked hiding behind it.

It gave him a comfort of sorts, an insurance in the event something backfired. Every now and then he would lurch from behind it and peek through its crevices. You’d have to be really astute to pick it up or really fond of him to understand his curios ways. I know he really didn’t meant it at all but there it was, said and done. However, this time it was directed towards another person, I nearly gave a grin away. I looked on while the other person picked on it, buying the whole argument. “I hate you”. You know he never really meant such things, cause he wasn’t capable of it. Unable to feel those things, he resorted to words and a little theatrics. He just pulled enough weight to pull it off for the real thing. I looked on, but I knew that more and more those very drama episodes were wasting his energies. Now a days it costed him more and more to pretend, fake anger that wasn’t there. So I loved the crevices he now and then gave to placate the argument, “well, you know, you could to a degree have a point there …” Had it been I, I would have jumped and allow for a comprimise, yet the argument went on well into the night. I dozed off. By the next morning, there were there, hugging each other. I stared while the morning sun slipped a few rays through the living room window, I wondered who had given in first.