closure and the inevitable opposite

we are walking together down the street at night talking. stillness is light weight and hangs in the air like semi-flat soda(literally). we are holding hands or maybe we're not, or maybe sometimes we are and then we stop to let the other - itch his nose or maybe fiddle with some change in his pocket, she as in me, is always open handed waiting.

i am here for work of some sort, an exhibition i believe. i am still alone in life, though i am content and fulfilled. you seem the same, but i wouldn't know. we talk.
"it's looming, so i have to ask, what happened?"
"i dont know. it was too much and i couldn't handle it."
"it was really nothing and it didn't matter. it did, but now it doesn't"
"but it could have mattered, so i acted as it did, and if it would."
"i thought i'd just leave you alone."
"you shouldn't have. i didn't want you to. i wanted you to. and you did the right thing."
"it's good you're living here (missouri, minnesota, it started with an m). i'm in phili now."
"i know."

nothing is settled and shaking it up is useless because what we were is so weightless it can't help but remain suspended. it never quite gets in the way, but it never goes away either. like mineral flakes, in water. and nothing ever happened, so nothing needs to be wrapped up so everything will remain eternally unraveled. and we look at it on the floor like a heap of something that never belonged, but is there only because we bought the materials, and failed to build. or some little yarn ball creature you made some time ago--that's worth the effort it would take to throw away, but you can't help but keep it.