Like Many Times Before

Together we rode in heavy silence like a steady drum, and we knew this wouldn't be the last time that I would stare out pretending at passing yellow stripes both of us measuring (or had you even tried?) at a handful of words. You wanted Something I never seemed to have. Or that I left unsaid. (You've said many times before) But I was measuring instead. I tried the only hand I knew mimicking the calm you flaunted. I didn't know anymore. So I stared ahead at nothing while you drove resolutely down our street, turning silently into the driveway that had been our home for nine long years. For a few seconds, I held back tears. (I'd always known you hated tears) But then turned to you slowly as you cut off the engine, and smiled, for just a moment. You smiled back softly. And like many times before, we knew that the silence would return to laughter, or touching, or even just acknowledgement. With a silent transformation that bore the only witness to all the reasons we loved at all, and only we knew.