Idle
Not yet.
I
They stood where the light thinned,
skin weathered, catching it unevenly, learning edges.
Neither reached.
The space held.
Air warmed, then paused —
as if waiting to be invited further.
He shifted his weight.
The ground answered first.
She tilted her head, barely —
and the room adjusted around it.
II
They edge closer without stepping,
distance thinning the way frost does
when breath finds it.
Words loosening, dissolving,
no longer needed to carry what was already known.
A look passed —
not quick, not kind —
the sort that softens something deep
and leaves it open.
His hand lifted, stopped.
Her breath changed.
The almost-touch crackled,
alive enough to feel like memory
arriving early.
III
They remained there, facing,
years folding inward without resistance.
Paint dulled.
Metal cooling.
Headlights dimmed,
reflecting each other’s shape
in the quiet of the road.
The two of them,
nose to nose,
idling,
engines humming low —
remembering every mile
that had brought them here.
So much on the clock.
Their engines still running.
Other prose and poems.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
How beautifully you have captured the intimacy of a long relationship where meaning no longer depends on words or movement! The stillness isn’t hesitation but familiarity, everything essential has already been learned.
The idling engines at the end beautifully suggest endurance over urgency, two lives still running, warmed by shared miles. Nothing needs to be crossed or proven. Presence itself is the bond.
Mark, I've been reading your other comments on this. I agree with them. All of them. But I have to say this. I just see beautiful.