Table talks

She asked me if I knew, as we passed in the hall. Life had whirled her around. I connected with the tone of her voice. A tragedy, a death, a sickness, I asked. Her eyes finally looking up to mine. She had asked him to sit with her, at the table they bought, when money was so tight and food was not the most important. She knew things had changed, just not felt the same. Doors opened and shut with no one to call out each name. Coming and going in all the activities. Last night had been the first in a long time to sit and talk. Their warmth was replaced by the coolness in the room. Distance no longer mattered. They were worlds apart. She thought after time when the children were gone. Dates would come much easier. Money to spend on time for themselves. One day she had all the things wished upon. What was left was two people whom either did not know. Differences so subtle stood there inbetween. She loved to dance and to sing. He chose the bar and the society events. She loved long walks watching the sun rise and set. Gardening and sitting on the porch with her cup. His words became few, she learned to talk to others. I listened as I felt not to interrupt, then I asked her the worst of it all. The 21 years spent learning to love or learning the love had left? After pondering a moment her eyes became misty. "The hours grew into days where once they were together. Small talks replaced conversation. Brushes in the hall became the only touch. They promised for more once life settled down. Now the things replaced the time, never to be found." She asked him to stop and to talk for a spell. Around the table in the kitchen for years. There were two different people asking questions with known answers.