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it was and end-of-summer sort of question.
that is not to say that it had to be necessarily posed at the end of the summer.
the two things, in this particular case, simply coincided. it had been a long ride.
scattered with expertly picked arguments born out of adoration, nascent distrust swiftly translating itself into sly accusations, interminable silences, carefully and mutually muted rage, incessant and vacant stares randomly distributed along a weary day, a rare touch dutifully executed and almost instantly hushed, smells that didn’t belong and a general sense of all-enveloping and absolving fatigue. no wonder then that the question was so obvious that only a moment after it had been pronounced (and immediately soaked up by the thick and colourful tapestry covering the walls all around) neither of them could say it for a fact who had actually uttered those words. or why no response was offered.

tibor

Enthusiastic photographer. Loves stories too.