conversations

Talk to me.

Keep talking to me.

You are not the comfort of candid conversation. Nor the reservoir of shared soothing nonsense. 

Why do I need you then?

Perhaps because You and I, We, have always belonged together. In our serious silences. In reaching out. Never. Always. In reaching in. Always. Never. We hide our little secrets and live out our lies. Saying what needs to be said – of lovely winter mornings that seem to give life meaning, not the foggy nights they followed and which we stayed awake through. Alone in sunsets, we promise sunrise to all and sundry. But ourselves. Patience, love, sacrifice. We have heard those and passed them on dutifully without having to believe. We belong for we can pretend and live it out. The choices we make are hungry sad choices devoid of conviction and rigged towards the repentant. We stand across unfathomable distances and know how unbridgeable the gap is. We belong because we have always known. The language of loss makes for good silent conversations. We belong because we have had those. And only those. The world mills around happiness. There is no need to find a place there. It is sitting at home, after the party is over, surrounded by the mess of others’ making, which is but my own, that I think of you. And that is when you have been in the middle of your own little celebration. We belong because our desires are ill timed, and our needs unfulfilled in one another. You and I together are like life. Predictable and reliable only in the promise of our instability and discomfort. Fierce loyalists of infidelity, we belong together. You and I. Let us go then.