"Hm.. Is this how happy looks like?"
I voice out absentmindedly.

My eyes stare at the wood grain adorning the table.
  Wordlessly, it speaks of the age.

He slowly wrote each letter on this scrap of paper.

Happy.

And drew an straight arrow at the very bottom,
towards

me.

"Yes, that's how it looks like.
Beautiful, yes?"

You know that discomfiting feeling where there is something at the very back of your throat?
Softly silencing all your words.
It doesn't quite go away for a while.

But there certainly isn't any silence between my eyes and his.

"Yeah, me too."

Inaudible to this messy, starry universe.

But enough for
*m i ne.