briiiiian asks good questions, meaning that they're either ones that few people have asked or in addition to that, they make me think. I run through reels of memories that I need for my reply:

What was the first toy you remember getting as a child?
What's the thing you've owned the longest?

They weren't earth shattering, but they sparked conversations. I would reply and he'd say, "Tell me that story," as if everything that happens to me is a story. Telling stories, I guess, is one of the easiest and fastest ways to get comfortable with someone.

And part of me has to wonder when it is that we stop telling each other stories, when the bounty of our memories has been exhausted. For my own benefit, briiiiian is one of the few people that I've met where right away I was comfortable with being silent. Even though I am indeed a yammering idiot most of the time, especially when I meet someone new, there were pockets of time, little spaces where neither of us spoke, and I wasn't intimidated by it.

You know, when I look at your eyes, I have no clue what you're thinking.
Most people don't.

When you are thrust into a situation where someone new enters and lingers and you're not really sure what to do with them but you keep them close, you question yourself. You question the weight and depth of anything said or heard. I have gotten to the point where a layer inside of me shrinks back, reminded how other encounters began with small sparks. It is only then that I can relax and not think, and just answer the questions.

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