Your eyes gave it away before you ever said it.

"I know something you don't!" your mouth sang, with a child'svoice.

"Really? Do ya now?" I replied sarcastically. What youdidn't know was that I was more interested than I let on.

"Uh huh, uhhuh! I have a secret!" So eager, so happy, so then and not now. I had one,too. A secret, that is. I had actually been thinking of telling you right then,blurting it out because I was so sure that it was true. So true, so then andstill now.

"A confidence!" So proud because you had used a wordin a way in which most people don't often do. I could feel it getting stronger,about to burst from my heart, up my neck, out my mouth and into your head.

"Wanna know what it is?" you asked in a way that revealed youwere going to say it despite my answer.

"But if you tell me, it won'tbe a secret anymore." Wrong thing to say. Your face fell like a deflatingballoon, even shaking a little from side to side as you quickly lowered you head.But then it was back up as you said, "I don't care. I want to tell younow." There was a complete change in you from that simple, fast head droop.You were now grave and somber, and I came even closer to tellingyou.

"Okay, tell me your secret," I said.

"Okay,ready? The sky, it's blue."

I started laughing and was treated to aninstant replay of your face falling. My heart was about to explode.

"Everyone knows that, silly. All you have to do is look at it to seethat the sky is the color blue," I explained.

"No, no. It'sblue."

An awkward silence fell. You swallowed, and I thought I sawtears in your eyes as I listened to the rain hitting thewindow.

"See! See!" you said in a choked voice. "Now it'scrying.

"I love you," I said.