fragments, Non classé, prose

Behind you

They crossed the street, and turned left to the park. They then walked a little bit more and found a bench to sit on. There were only three people around, runners were vanishing in the wide open like tiny dancing spots of colors. They were sitting, not talking, just staring off in the distance, looking for something they would never find. The intangible. It was there somewhere, they knew it, I knew it, even the runners knew it. That is why they always keep on running. They might ignore it, but they run for the intangible. All the time; taking chances, gambling, doing everything they can to feel something, to escape some sort of self-imposed boredom.
She moved her hand towards his and I stopped thinking. They were being watched. They didn’t know it. It happens all the time, there is no denying it. No need to make a scene about it. It just happens. Willingly, unwillingly, just as many other life things. They were trying to talk now, exchanging a few casualties, words with little to no meaning at all, nothing they cared about anyway. There was no way she could be interested in his passion for wrestling, nor could he like to talk about books and literature. But they showed one how it all works, what it requires you to do.
They stood up suddenly and began to stroll along in the park, walking hand in hand. That was fascinating. Were they intimate? There is an idea that you are intimate with someone when you meet their genitals – that’s wrong, in every sense of the term. Intimacy goes beyond that, through that even. They knew that as they walked and walked and walked. They knew that grasping someone’s hand, touching it, feeling it, the smooth skin in your own, is an entirely different experience. One that changes you.

They arrived at a door, her door as it were. They stopped for a moment, looking into each other eyes, smiling even. I waited for something to happen, something else. Something known. Everyone expects it at some point. Quickly enough sometimes, but that’s neither here nor there. Why? They didn’t fold, didn’t give in to the pressure. They didn’t kiss, they smiled, blinked, winked, and he left. He took her home, and left.
I followed him back to the entrance door of his appartment, and watched as he went upstairs, back to his secure and safe world. Back to where the rules were his, where he could be whatever he wanted to be. A light was turned on somewhere, why does this keep happening? He probably sat on his couch wondering about her : did she have a good time? Did she like him? Did she want him to kiss her? That was a certainty. One always think such things.
Walking back home, there was another. Beautiful, joyful, full of everything. They looked at me and I looked into them, it was all a lie. They knew it, I knew it, even the runners now part of the horizon knew it.

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