Matching anoraks.

A flat cap and a bobble hat.
Two matching blue anoraks,
zig-zags stitched into the shoulders-
a last vestige of daring.
All that remains of youth.
Hands held, heads down,
leaning together.
Silence is what is left
when all has been said and done.
There are no more words to waste.
They take their time.
Slow step by slow step.

In a world both distant and familiar,
chance found two war babies
who were in need of sweets
and placed them together,
watched them reach out
and taught them to jitterbug.
Arms out, feet flying.
Now only they can lift the veil of age
and see each other as they once were.
Quick, vibrant, alert, questioning.
The ghost of youth still flits across their faces,
lighting a memory.

They grew together.
Two weathered rock faces
etched by the running water
of shared experience.
All softness gone,
eagerness stilled,
curiosity satisfied.
A living monument to a shared life
in a small town by the edge of a cold, grey sea.
The essence of two lives shared.
They inch forward, clinging together,
waiting for the moment
when they merge into one.



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