If only I had something to tell you.
The pauses between our words tonight were long and numerous. During these pauses we looked not at each other, but at the fire. All the things we wanted and needed to say to each other passed silently from our eyes and into the fire. The ashes describe everything we truly feel and desire in a language that no-one will ever understand.
It has been such a long time since I last saw you. I kept wondering if it was really you, and not some impostor in a mask. The train makes skeptical noises as I write this. Sunday train, now arriving at Heatherdale. The perfect night sky is vandalised by billboards, talking about cars. Or streetlights, pretending to be stars.
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