When we talk, the world doesn't exist.
We sit, in the dark, in the sun, in blank space.

There's no time, no air, no pain.
We don't even breathe.

Constant conversation,
sometimes without words.
Whether it be glances, tears, or yawns.

It's like a dream,
not the kind you have while you sleep
or the kind you imagine as a child.
The kind of dream that can't be described.
It just is what it is. No one outside of it understands.
And that's ok.

It's not for anyone except you and I.

We talk people, politics, love, hate, sorrow, joy.
We laugh, we cry, we fight, we smile.

We talk until words don't even make sense.
Until my speak slurs to a mumble, we both grow mute.
And your words become snores.  

Then we wake up, and do it all over again.