They shared a meal  
an evening
and a glass of wine
with conversation of pleasant things
fond memories
and she told him
about when she was young
and how she used to push her hair behind her ears
before she became paranoid
that this would make them stick out.
He knew what she meant.
Later
when she was asleep
curled up tight in the position of a child
he stroked her face
cloaked in beauty
and played with her hair, pushing it behind her ears.
Then he stopped.
He didn’t want to be
he couldn’t be
he wasn’t ready to be
a father.