The ghost of a smile. No, not the ghost. A ghost implies something there, that is now not. An ex-smi

The ghost of a smile. No, not the ghost. A ghost implies something there, that is now not. An ex-smile, still lingering now that it’s lost. But this smile isn’t there yet, it’s just wavering into existence, and I’m midwiving it along.  It trembles at the corners of your mouth, as though this is no easy feat that’s being performed. The shudder of concentration on the temple of the mentalist as he makes the prediction, the laser focus shaking through the sheer force of it. Your face is serene, but that smile is a tenuous thing. It might fail at any moment. I need to coax.  But I’ve been coaxing all night, and while we’ve had a few bemused efforts, they’ve been abortive, something that may look like a smile but lacks the life and genuine pleasure that I’m after. I’m nothing if not tenacious, though, and we can keep trying. I’ll watch you waver, and I’ll gently flirt that curve wider.  Why is it so hard for you, pretty girl? Why isn’t it something easy, a broad, happy thing, all teeth and dimples, breaking across your face without a second thought, the muscles settling into grooves made deep with practice? You’re guarded, I can tell. You’re worried, anxious, tentative. But you hide it behind an aloof grace that, I must admit, is rather attractive. Even if it’s not quite genuine.  But then I was always interested in the actors and actresses. I wanted to know what they were hiding. My curiosity is insatiable, and I’m curious about you, all of a sudden. I’m curious what can make you smile. I’m curious why you make it an event, when it should be just the punctuation to any conversation.  I put my hand on your leg, and the smile breaks, and you blush. And I learn a bit about you, enough to make me want to know more. -- source link

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