From an early age on, they knew never to speak of it. It wasn’t taught to them – these things you do not, cannot teach, but it was implied. Implied in the curves of the commas and the slopes of the apostrophes that punctuated every simple syllable; implied in the lazy languid expressions worn on the frail, distraught faces of those who knew, who had washed their hands of the greedy affair, seven and a half years ago.
Time passed those years peculiarly, never betraying the secret, never giving it even a passing nod of acknowledgment though it traveled with them always, hovering overhead like an ominous cloud pregnant with rain. But most times there was calmness. A sense of normalcy arched over the long, seemingly endless bridge of life and traffic flowed smoothly and ceaselessly with little perturbation.
But if one looked hard enough, searched for it in places hidden and deep, beyond the busy streets and littered sidewalks, it could be found loitering discreetly amidst the glaring headlights of buses and cars as they sped through the cacophony of rush-hour traffic. Searched out by keen eyes and coaxed into view by unsettled fumbling feelings, they found it alive and well, more pervasive then they had imagined it to be.
It inhabited their houses by night, walking in soft slippers and speaking in hushed whispers, and in the morning when curtains were pushed aside and windows thrown wide open for the welcoming of sunshine and delusion into their homes, it mingled with the rays of light that burst forth and manifested itself in the promiscuous specks of dust dancing their way into cushion-covers and side-arms of couches and love seats. It dwelt amongst them, was a part of them so closely entwined with their identities that they could no longer see it, no longer feel it, and blissfully unaware, they allowed it to entrap them in its dizzying snare.
