Wavelengths

"Sometimes I hate people," he said. 

"Yeah? Why?" she inquired. 

He kicked the sand burying his right foot. Stared at the little granules rolling back to where they were. She waited. 

"They just don't understand, y'know?" She stared into his eyes. He stared back, and he knew he didn't need to elaborate. 

"People judge too much," he started, then quickly stopped. He stole a glance at the person beside him, and he wondered if he had said wrongly. Her face was unreadable, and he didn't even know if that's a good thing. Her eyes were fixated to some invisible thing in the middle of the vast sea, whipping softly in front of them. 

Maybe they too were afraid of being judged, and that's why they did it first. Maybe people are just pretentious assholes who divert their attention from their pathetic little flaws to others who are actually a lot alike like them. Maybe, maybe. I just realized I used a lot of maybes in my sentences -- are thoughts considered as sentences? Her mind raced, each thought showing like they were typed with a hyper-technological super-fast brain typewriter. 

"You looked bored." He stated, almost like a demand. A demand for a response. Any response at all. He knew she hated how he always does that, and he could almost guess accurately -- in what looked like a nanosecond after he spoke those words -- the little frown lines forming on her forehead, the small exasperated sigh coming out from her mouth, the scowl, and how all those would drift away as quickly as they came. It was perfect. 

"Well, look who's judging," she snapped back. Then they smirked, and she knew she didn't need to elaborate.

Because, admit it, who doesn't love knowing someone that much.