Short hand and extended silences.  Not uncomfortable silences, but companionable ones.  Ones that are filled with more than words can ever really communicate.  Feet in his lap, a relaxed hand on her leg, absently rubbing circles on her skin.  Unbroken.  Never ending.  He asks for “that thing…you know…” and she hands him exactly what he wants.  It’s effortless between them.  The rings still glint new and shiny on heir fingers, polished, bright.  They spend hours wrapped in each other, forsaking all others for their beloved.

The passage of time.  She sits, her legs curled under her, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup.  The silences stretch longer and longer, no longer filled with the words that are left unsaid, but words they can’t bring themselves to even think about.  She goes into the kitchen and forgets what he would prefer to drink, doesn’t even consider bringing him one.  Words weren’t used and now are forgotten.

He sits alone, space and room are the only things surrounding him now.  The air is heavy with ghosts.  Ghosts of her.  Ghosts of all the words they didn’t think they needed.  They thought them unnecessary and with time, forgot how to use them.  Words that have faded away and now the circle is unbroken, a chain of words around his neck, choking him, weighing him down.  His hand only grasps the air now.