the light fandango

"tell me," she says,"do you love me?"
her hand brushes his bent elbow. the lights on the bridge illuminate his adept and beautiful face.
it's a question she regularly asks. his response is usually immediate and glib.
this time, he hesitates.
her hand drops to her side. and, flinching at the split-second pause before his affirmative answer, she realizes that honest doubt is immensely, immeasurably superior to routine affection.