“I’m not sad,” I protested.
Gary stopped short in the middle of the hall
and almost got bowled over by a senior.
“Excuse me? You? Not sad?
You’re the Archivist. It’s like
you took it upon yourself to be the sad one.”
We walked on in silence
while I turned over every word he said,
like they were smooth pebbles.
“But I’m not sad,” I said,
unable to think of anything more witty.
“OK, OK. I believe you.”
I smiled to convince him.
He grinned back at me.
His eyes sparkled, but not like
his eyes… those blue eyes…