We sit in a car and don’t talk to each other
I ask if you really know where you’re going
You ask if I think you’re stupid

We walk down a path and don’t talk to each other
I trip over a crack in the pavement
You hesitate before asking if I’m ok

We stand at the entrance and don’t talk to each other
I almost grab your hand
I am afraid of the dark

We walk through the tunnels and don’t talk to each other
The path slims and you slip in front of me
You pause as you remember how we used to be

We stand in the cave and don’t talk to each other 
I am lost in the size of the room
You are enveloped by the stone.

“Do you understand,” you say, desperate, hoping. “Do you see, can you?” I look around. I look at you. I see. You, so at home, so comfortable in these tunnels and caves. You love it here. Me, out of place, pebbles in my shoes, hands cut on jutting rocks. I understand you. Do you understand? “No,” I say.

We walk through the tunnels and don’t talk to each other 
The silence is agonizing
The drive back will be worse

We walk up a path and don’t talk to each other
I made the right decision
The world moves on behind us

We sit in a car and don’t talk to each other
The silence stretches
We fade away.