Little Engines

We made claims to proximity.  Borne from stubborn ideals and our reactive natures, we're reminded of them every time familiarity strays; every moment we struggle to hear each other's voice over the mumblings of a crowd, over the roar of every engine that has ever taken us between two points (sometimes and back.)  Silhouettes left on the stubborn plastic of subway seats and cast by hands gripping the frayed ends of metal fences tell a different story; one where the cracks grow wider the longer they're left untended and where cuts on dry skin take weeks to heal. Backlit by the glow of drifting headlights, you'll look away and I'll struggle to make out your features reflected in the passenger side window.  The inheritance you left me with, I'll divide up between my failures.  And through it all, I'll still blame you when my extremities get cold; when my coughing awakens lovers in the next room; when difficult friendships are far beyond mending.  

Everything under the sun rests between our shoulders, this I now know.