Silences

There is a room and two people in it. The day outside is bright, sunny and humid. The air conditioner is humming so loud you had to scream a few decibels louder than usual to even whisper. There is a television on, playing inane entertainment that gets worse in degrees as her finger flicks the remote. Somehow, there seems to be no tension in the room. Its just him and her, and a room. The conversation moves from things mundane to things probably relevant in a reminiscence 50 years from now. Then, without even asking the question emerges, in butterfly touches, in measuring palms, in just lying there in each others arms and pretending to not know what it was leading to. Out of nowhere the passion explodes, one minute is quiet, and the next there is desire. A melding of bodies, with so many questions that form in the sweat beading their skin. Questions that get asked as they slowly stop and regain that staccato rhythm of vagueness again. The clothes come back on, the masks are back it doesn't seem like the moments of naked reality will ever return. The memory of pleasure recedes in a corner of their minds. They sit in their private silences in that room, thinking back. It is time to leave and the neutrality of banter creeps in again somehow. The drive back is simple enough, so is the parting. Tomorrow, as it always was, is and ever will be, is simply another day.