Where the Red Lines Are
We both know where the red lines are the social etiquette of unsaid things that we must observe,
the physical boundaries of social distancing that we cannot pass through create emotional mountains in our lives.
On the rare occasions we are alone, ostensibly, on a daily walk away from prying ears and eyes, we talk affectionately and garrulously like mountain streams colliding as they chatter down the hill.
We both know where the red lines are, both Covid and matrimonial.
We are each other’s “special friend” walking occasionally together so as not to arouse suspicion or gossip in our small community.
We walk our well worn route around path and fields through the woods dripping in the rain.
The social distancing barriers we cannot cross and the emotional ones that we will not cross for fear of discovery, hurt and upset.
We talk our small talk, family and mutual friends, past lovers but secretly, we wish our conversations were deeper more personal, more joyous in this sad world
Our feelings half expressed as we try and plot our way through this pandemic driven relationship but cannot navigate it comfortably.
The things we wish to say, the endearments and desires remain unsaid straitjacketed by both our long-standing relationships and fears,
We sit on our favourite bench 2 metres apart looking across the world ahead recognising our mutual sadness.
Our distress manipulates our feelings and magnifies the emotional Nomansland that the red lines that we observe have created.
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