I watch as his feet pound the ground, pushing him further. The muscles in his legs contracting and stretching. He's oblivious to my scrutiny, focused intently on the game. At that moment he turns to look at me, catching the wonder in my eyes before I can hide it. But he doesn't ask, he turns his gaze back to the playing field and immerses himself once more. I'm glad he doesn't ask. There would be too many reasons. No way to describe why I am so completely and utterly absorbed.
Now he's watching me. His eyes following my body as I move. What does he see. The slight limp, the awkward stance, the effort not to trip. And yet I don't believe he would ever say anything. Just that look.
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