ABS Eyes V.s Orange Wool

Tucked away in the corner I sat face-to-face with Laptop.

We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, always gazing to and fro into the bright LED eyes of my soul mate; holding hands, sometimes dabbling and pressing each other’s buttons. There are moments too when he re-directs to other sites, freezing on the profiles of pretty, Facebook girls. He gets overheated sometimes, and shuts-down and won’t look at me for a while, angry and hot. I mean, I do leave him at home some nights when I go out – I think it’s just better that way for the both of us though – but somehow I later end up back with him.
In front of him always, playing with his keys only, letting him keep all of my deepest secrets and obsessions inside of him, never telling another hardrive about them. He’s been loyal to me, staying close beside my hips while we travel – he’s my rock, my ABS plastic.

We went out together today just to spend the afternoon alone, we wanted the out-but-tucked-away feeling and we found it.
It was so perfect, so cozy sitting in front of the window beside the heater with him while we talked about what we wanted to drink, the fresh snow that had just fallen – everything – we talk about everything.

A Persian man’s orange, tangy sweater was  reflected off of the glass in front of us. He was still and silent.
“Hi” I heard from behind us.
I looked at his eyes that were printed onto the glass before I turned around to face him.
“Can I have your name?” he asked.
“No, I’m alright thank you.”
I looked deep into Laptop’s eyes to show that I am with someone.
“You have the internet there” he said as he looked at Laptop.
“Yup, we do” I replied for us.
He spoke again: “I just wanted to tell you how pretty you are.”
“Thank you” I said, while I turned to the glow of his orange sweater, “that’s sweet of you.”

The eyes of Laptop closed; they idled almost in fear to the sounds of the words another man gave me.

“I just see there that you have a Toshiba, and well, so do I” the Persian man said telltale.
Laptop’s eyes were still shut tight; it was as if he could not bear to look at me in front of this orange sweater-ed man.

Examining the coffee shop, searching outward from our corner, I pointed to across the room and said humorously but frankly, “Yeah, I think they have a Toshiba  over there too…”

“You’re funny” the man spoke, “Haha.”
I looked back to Laptop putting my hands over his, warming them in an I’m-back way.
His eyes lit up again and shimmered at me, bright and happy that I didn’t leave him for the man’s orange sweater.


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