Questioning Love

Why is this so hard?
I know you better than anyone.
And you, I.
But still we set here not knowing what to say.
I glance up from fidgeting with my milk shake straw.
You’re brown, green eyes meet mine.
We both turn away,
Each hopping that the other hasn’t noticed,
Each knowing that if we let our gazes meet only tears will fallow.
Looking back at the table, I fold and unfold my napkin, and you toss bits of yours into the trashcan.
I gaze at you’re strong, tanned hands.
I want more than anything to reach out and take on of them in my own.
It seams so strange hands I know so well, hands that have known my own many times before, are now off limits.
Why do we do this to each other, to ourselves?
Why can’t we just love, and not ask questions?