April 2nd, xxxy
NERVOUSNESS FEEL AKIN TO dread. His heart isn't pounding furiously, he isn't darting his eyes back and forth, he isn't opening and closing his fist. He is not unfeeling, not frozen, not stoic.
He does not stare in nostalgia at Alice's house as the car drove past. He doesn't admire the rolling hills, the houses, the life outside the car. He does not distract himself with work he doesn't need to do.
Precious doesn't steal a nap, doesn't rest his head on the car rest and close his eye. He doesn't try to break the impenetrable silence in the car. He doesn't reach for Kamil's—to either reassure or be reassured for he knows once he place his hand on Kamil's, he won't let go.
He doesn't gaze too long at Kamil's face; doesn't want to flick away the dark clouds hovering over his head, doesn't smoothen the knots of his eyebrows. He doesn't tell Kamil to breathe, to not guard himself, to look and smile at him.
