Some Words for September

We’re on a park bench, me on the right, her on the left, and though her body is turned slightly away from me, I can see from the corner of my eyes that her head is directed towards me and that she’s burning holes with her look. She’s attempting to figure something out, so I turn and meet her gaze.

I have my eyes on her, looking in, and she looks back without blinking. There is a blank expression drawn on her face, and certainly no betrayal of the intensity of a newly broken connection.

I remember when we were obsessed with each other. When we each couldn’t have enough. It was almost as if our existence depended on the guarantee of having the other one there, without any particular commitment, but with only the knowledge that the there would be no room for anyone else, no matter what the outside circumstance.

A signal of hope is being sent out for an audience of one, like the bright flashes of red light blinking across the darkness of the night sky from towers and planes. We hold no illusions about the world, and we know that it is a brutal and callous place, so the idea of making the moments with each other real and gimmick-less is important to us.

There is a slight chill in the air, and as we maintain a closed circuit, we both each realize, minute by passing minute, that it is too late. The cold months are on their way, and the Fall is about to take over with its short days and its even longer shadows. The swimming pools are just beginning to go unused, and the leaves left to pile up on the tops of blue canvas covers. The walks around the block at night, walking hand in hand, will soon become contemplative lonely journeys with our arms crossed behind our backs, shuffling away in silence, holding on to the present as if there is no promise of a future.

We outgrew each other.
We have been outgrown.

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