In which the things you've had become less important than the things you haven't

There was a day we spent together...

We got up in the morning, nothing having happened the night before, and we listened to the Golden Years in the silence of friendship broken only by the insults of love lost. I thought I was losing you and you thought I was already lost. We both guessed the year at the same moment, finding each other momentarily.

We teased each other from departure to arrival. We drew a few looks from the others in the carriage. They probably wondered how we could say such mean things to each other if we cared. But we said it because we cared. Because speaking low of each other was easier, safer than speaking love to each other. Because we'd done it often enough that it was call and response. The insults poured from our lips without conscious thought. Always with a smile though, and a wink. Always.

Soon enough we were home. Neither of us were from that place, or lived in that place, but then it was home. Still is, some days.

We didn't need to speak now. You led, I followed. I led, you followed. Which one us had the prize in our hands first I don't know. We sat, in the open air, in the drizzle (or maybe it was sun), the city carrying on around us as we lost ourselves in our new possession. We read the sleeve notes to each other and mirrored our own excitement in the other's eyes. We were one thought in two heads. 

We listened. Were enveloped. Needed more. We listened again.

The initial rush passed and we returned to our bickering. I miss your insults now. We were happy then, I think. It wasn't perfect but it was as close as either of us dared to get. 

We left heading in separate directions, neither of us saying what we wanted to at our farewell.We never did. We just settled for 'always'. That one word. We said so little but meant so much.

Always...