we are not people of passion. we don't run our lives through the spin cycle then hang them on the line in front of our neighbours. our conversations of depth are accidents, our moments of tenderness jarring.

we almost love one another too much for the present circumstances-ex's who live in the same house after being on opposite ends of the earth for a year. our friendship is full of contradictions. we are close but distant; we are platonic yet tender. most of all, we care deeply about one another in a way that takes our eye off the path and we're suddenly lost, uncertain where to place our feet, terrified of what will happen when the sun sets. i find myself full of joy to know you've figured out where to take your life; i find myself feeling like i've been punched in the stomach when other girls are mentioned.

but we are not people of passion. we discuss it over a joint, we lie down in your bed together, touching one another for the first time in a year and a half. we discuss that last girlfriend, who you describe like a fling. we talk. we touch. but we are not people of passion. we do not shout when we disagree. we do not grope or lick or even seek skin below clothing. we talk quietly, almost whispering. we touch, lightly.

we are not people of passion.