"The dark wooden floor is positively icy beneath my feet, but I don't make a move to find a warmer seat. I cup my hands around the mug and swirl the liquid in it, relishing the warmth it provides, but not the actual drink. You are as inscrutable as ever, studying me with your eyes. You probably know what I'm thinking now; what I'm feeling. I always assumed those eyes of yours could read me as easily as you read your lengthy, small-printed books in languages that even a scholar would be apprehensive to learn. You don't make a move to speak though, seemingly satisfied to sit there. I can't help but think that you look so far away and untouchable. Your face is painted chiaroscuro in the lighting; the left side of your hair is inky dark, but the right is illuminated silver. The contours of your face are draped in muted, blurred shadows, but your cheekbones are as sharp and bright as knives. We are both so silent and still, facing each other on the exact opposite sides of the table, that if a person was to come upon our scene they might think that one of us the reflection of the other. In a way, maybe we are reflections of one another. I am your opposite in nearly every physical way, but sometimes I think our minds are more similar than you let on. In fact, I am utterly sure that our mind are a part of the same machine. It's a paradox because I know you are aware as well, because we are the same, but yet we both pretend that we are not. But why do we pretend if we both know that the other knows? I am suddenly dizzy and I realize that it is either far too late or far too early in the day to be philosophizing like this. I break out of my reverie to see your lips have curved slightly upwards, the barest hint of a smile. It's rare to see you do so; you're so serious all the time. The edges of your eyes have crinkled slightly with your sudden amusement. I let out a little huff into the silence and try not to grin. I'm sure you find my philosophical struggle quite amusing, don't you? Of course you do. You probably know the answer to my paradox. You probably knew it the moment our minds had shifted to accommodate one another. Yet I find myself content to my confusion and your knowledge. To the cold floor and the warm mug. To the dark shadows and the silver light. I am content to our opposites and our similarities, so I continue to leave the comfortable silence unbroken and match your enigmatic smile with one of my own.