a couple sits on opposite sides of a dinner table, food mostly gone. muted explosions and a pumping soundtrack pulse from the basement. no one speaks.
they’ve been together for many years, each shaped by lifelong contact with the other, a complex jigsaw of additions and subtractions. the cracks are becoming evident, but neither wants to lift their eyes to see.
there is warmth and there is distance. there is abiding affection. and confusion.
they work until they tire. longed for vacations never come, they only transform into more work.
there is solidity. there is sadness. they’ve shared so much. yet they trust so little.
and there’s music in the air that doesn’t come from the blu-ray adventure a floor below. each thinks they are the only one who can hear it. the art of isolation.
in a moment, they will be rescued from this swelling emptiness. the movie will end. their children will pile through the door, talking over one another, needing snacks, bickering, inspirational even in their pettiness.
somewhere a switch is thrown.