Little Talks

I sit.

You sit beside me.

You stand up, you leave.

You sit.

I sit beside you.

I stand up, I leave.

How is that possible?

All we ever do is leave little of each other, a memory of a star, in the pool of lights that blink their uncertainties, the depth of blackness above, a pebble lost along the lane. There are no spectators in our togetherness, we are alone so why not do something more? No, not something more, something closer, deeper. Something incredibly intimate while we roam around the streets.

Leave infinite of each other.

How is that possible?