Tonight I sit close to her and I watch her wait, watch her count beeps awake. She slouched on the bean bag and hung on to that tiny piece of technology, like a little child waiting for a late parent. I wonder if she knows that her posture seems drowned, that she was sitting like her body was jelly and that she can't hide her tears by closing her eyes. She didn't have to say a word, I'd have guessed it somehow. Her eyes were distant and haunting and it reminded me of the question she had asked me many years ago while we were heading to bed. She'd asked me a question I never thought an adult would ask me, and she asked for my opinion, for my take on the issue. I wonder if she remembered, if she was thinking what I was thinking. Even if I may not know what she thought, I know for sure that she was having doubts. I could smell it.