This week’s 400 word or less writing prompt from ISmithWords’ Literary Lion is: Time.
An Extension of Conversation
My husband and I don’t know each other anymore. The years of stress seem to have drawn us so thin we couldn’t even see each other anymore. I still try to engage him in conversation every few days or so, but he hushes me until his project or music or other distraction ends… then he starts another. He still tries to engage me with kisses and caresses when the doors were closed and the sun has put the children down for the night, but I have my own distractions to make excuses with. Perhaps we just don’t know how to be with each other anymore, maybe we’ve been pummeled by life for so long we don’t understand a kind word or a gentle touch anymore.
Back when we were friends, and insistently nothing more, we discussed a great many things but none quite so intriguing as sex. To say I was a novice gave me too much credit, I was so backwards. To say he was experienced was putting it kindly. He was a sailor after all. He said something that struck me keenly and acutely to my very soul: Sex is just an extension of conversation.
Over the course of our long friendships and short courtship we’ve had many wonderful conversations leading late into the nights and early into the mornings. I had thought… perhaps this is what meant to be looks like, then. I was not so naive as to think things would never change, but I had not expected to eventually spend my nights with a stranger during this “for better or worse” existence.
We no longer speak to one another, we no longer touch. Time has drawn this extension apart at its seams.