conspirators

He winks conspiratorially at me, and we are suddenly complicit in something larger than ourselves. It is a promise that we cannot speak, that has no name. And yet, we both understand what he means with that quick wink, curly eyelashes batting away the smoke of his cigarette break. It is then that we become a single being, separated only by time and circumstance, doomed to walk our own paths with dogged insistence, with only these brief, drunken glimmers of recognition to look forward to at uncertain intervals. And it is with this (repeated) realization that we allow our eyes to meet, then part.