excavations

the three hundred yard walk to the subway in silence highlighted in pink our patterns of restraint, tight-lipped and stubborn we marched and i would normally have expected a toothpaste flavoured meeting of lips as we turned the corner to greet hayden street, his eyes wide and mine lowered. but not today. we marched on, instead, toward the mouth of a crowded cave guarding our words like unspeakable secrets, waiting to be swallowed.

the three hundred yard walk to the subway in silence weighed heavily on my heart as i travelled through the tunnels alone, forbidding anyone to share my bench. having made of my briefcase a wall i huddled, pretending to read, but truthfully watching the lights, from the corner of my eye, speed by in a frenzy of distance. i wondered if we would emerge, and when.

the three hundred yard walk to the subway in silence offered me a few solid breaths of reflection in exchange for the pained sigh of my conclusion: it would have been best if we had loved only in the echoes of sex. we are young, i thought, knowing us to be too deeply involved for such deus ex machina statements. too deep and still digging.