He spoke in beautiful sentences. She replied in
non-committal monosyllables. His words had no coherence from one pause to
another. Her silences told a thousand stories. They lived together, and they
drifted apart. And then the silences brought them back. Again and again, he
spoke in words which were like the refraction of white light; again and again,
her silences the beauty of the infinite darkness.
The world wore the white of a fogged out windscreen, the
silence of a thousand nights populated by silent blinking traffic lights
signalling no traffic whatsoever. Did you ever realize there are very few
things as lonely as walking a brightly lit, empty road late in the night? Bright
lights are not built for silences, when coupled with empty roads; they bring
your worst monsters out and threaten to eat your soul. He walked those roads
alone.
And then one day, she asked to come with him. And all the
squalid little affairs of the day- the brain freezes, the ego-fights, the petty
squabbles- everything was forgotten. He was complete. The empty roads wore the
brilliance of a satisfied soul.
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