A nothing-day,
they called it at home,
so plain, mundane,
nothing to remember.
But alone in the car
it was not nothing
- it rather meant a lot.
Raindrops slashed down
exploding onto the window
like bombs in a war.
If this was a war,
it was their own,
and peace treaties had been signed.
The shaking of the hands
did not go as well,
agreement though there was.
It took too long
and meant too much,
palms sweaty but soft.
They both looked out the window
on the scenery beyond.
Beautiful as it was,
it did nothing to compare.
They turned the radio on
and one of them made a joke.
Laughter awkwardly ended
when self conciousness came back.
It was the first nothing-day
when everything happened.
(01-07-2013)
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