He watches her with her friends, but it's not the same. He doesn't examine her. He just finds it funny, by comparison. Everyone must know how much pain she must be in, after all she's lost, but she smiles and they smile back; they like to think that she's dealing well.
Even he knows better, as he watches from the opposite side of the room, and he is the one not supposed to understand emotions or anything of the sort.
They are ignorant, as is she. She never looks over at him. He understands. Why would she risk so much for just one glance?
He has nothing to risk now, nothing to gain or lose.
She still has her act, her fragile composure, her connection of people and faces and expressions and conversations and connections. One day it will all crumble around her and they both wait for it, with a certain amount of excitement. But she is not ready yet. She will probably never be ready.
He is ready. He keeps watching.
Cold cold water surrounds me now,
And all I've got is your hand
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Or am I alone?