That Endgame

Out here, the moments seem to hang suspended on the night air, as though each second has weight. We move the moments towards and around each other as if they are pieces on a board. Each move brings us closer to that moment we both know is going to happen, we are both waiting for. However, we move the moments around so that each move pushes that inevitable moment, that endgame, further away from us. Sometimes it seems we will move it too far out of our reach altogether.

Time out here, under the watching stars, seems suspended, not part of the real time we can hear murmuring from the house we have left behind, to escape those others. From the moment we saw each other, we knew we wanted to be alone together, dancing around the rituals of the party until we could conspire this escape. Still, we have hardly spoken; still, we do not know each other’s names; but we have looked at each other in a way that tells far more than mere names and labels ever can. We know each other already, from a mere handful of glances across those crowded rooms and, so, everything else can wait. We know it is all inevitable.