He was looking at the road out the window. His body the same casual brooding she had know so long ago; it was only hands that had always given him away. He never seemed to her to be in control of all the things his hands said. They used to tell of awkwardness and longing. Always reaching for her without realizing it. Or hanging nervously at his sides. That night they gripped the steering wheel while they tried to make small talk about the last 3 years spent not talking to one another. She wanted to tell him how she still hadn't learned when to keep her mouth shut. That she was sorry for everything she had done, everything she had been, all the times she had failed to be what he had wanted of her. She wanted to say that she still didn't know how to let go, only how to hold more and more inside.
But it was late and the car ride was only a couple of minutes long. "Take care," he said. "yeah... you too"
maybe they meant it. Maybe that's enough.
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