From across the room, they looked like strangers forced to share a table in the food court, in those moments when it was far too crowded to have the privilege of a moment of cherished solitude and quietness among the sea of people yelling and struggling to get their food. But the truth was that they had always been strangers. Strangers to each other, and strangers for themselves. They had shared a bed for more than thirty years. In that time, they had memorized the movements of one another. The way in which their bodies moved in that bed. But they have never learned to listen to their silences, the moments in which their bodies remained still, leaving vast zones of themselves far from the reach of each other, spaces that remained unknown until today.
Observing them, a sudden sadness came upon me. I had always thought that once I had left, there wouldn't be much to be done. Everything would turn into silences and they would be forced to listen to them. It'd come to the point in which they would realize that they had stuck together all those years for the sake of my bringing up, and now that I was gone they could finally go their separate ways. It'd come the time when they would have to accept that they didn't speak the same language.
But coming back home and finding them still together, sharing all those uncoded silences, made me realize how lonely they are. They are strangers, but at least they make company to each other. It was the fear of loneliness that kept them together.