~ Lily ~
We leave the convenience store carrying nothing more complicated than coffee, two bags of chips, and the kind of easy conversation that never seems to need direction. I keep expecting the silence between us to become uncomfortable, the way silence often did with Dylan, where every pause felt like something waiting to go wrong. It never happens. We walk beside each other without rushing to fill every second, and somehow that says more than what another hour of talking could.
The river is alive at night. Couples drift past with linked hands. Cyclists weave through pedestrians. A saxophone player stands beneath one of the bridges, his music spilling over the water until it blends with the distant traffic, I say to myself that this city is enormous and yet strangely intimate, as tho
