We sit together at the edge of the pier, talking and throwing crumbs to the fish that gather at our feet in the water. The lake is a deep green and the air is cool and frigid. My fingers are cold and your nose is pink and our cheeks are flushed from the icy chill of late autumn.
Sometimes we talk, sometimes all that we need is silence.
A smile, the brush of fingertips.
When we talk, we talk about everything that's real and everything that isn't. And you understand my dreams, I understand your aspirations.
We understand the tones in each others' voices, the underlying tones and the expressions - what is a joke, and what isn't, what is real and what isn't, where the phrases of bravado begin and end.
And the world is at peace when we smile at each other because the understanding between us is something that doesn't exist between other people.