There is never a moment when there is nothing to say.
From the instant in the grey morning when he steers the car out of the rain-washed car park, to the minute he brings it to a stop again in the same place six hours later, their conversation is endless.
It twists and turns through a dozen subjects on the anonymous motorway. It drifts along harmlessly on their one attempt at duty. It ducks and dives, dances and weaves, sometimes dangerously, sometimes amusingly, sometimes sweetly as they eat in the restaurant. Even when he is utterly lost in her beauty and the eloquence of her gorgeous eyes, their words somehow continue to bind them tight.
There is an exclamation point when she unexpectedly kisses him on the cheek and they hug almost awkwardly as they return to the street. It is heaven to feel her arms about him, to feel her close, even for those untidy, embarrassed, sacred seconds.
And then their dialogue continues. Wild, irreverent, brave and unabated.
They hold each other’s attention like lovers.
Yet they are not.