I’m writing again. Don’t tell anyone.
I zipped up whilst he pulled on his over-trousers, then I watched him slide his feet into his boots and clip up. I was ready to go.
____‘It’s fine,’ I said. A conversation shared between two people that were really worlds apart, sharing those things we only really could share; manners, topics of general interest, conversations about the weather or the simple facts of existence; where we resided, what we did. An old woman had told me once that things hadn’t changed. We ask the same questions, she said, we have the same responses. We’ve always talked about the weather, always tried to understand those we’ve never really wanted to understand. Even now, drawn together by the harshness of our surroundings, we continue that tradition.
____Though, are we really as together as we had thought? I now had reason to doubt the solidarity of our ‘communal’, ‘ideal’ existence.