Comfortable Silence

I rewound the same song three times to hear the story. You sang along - a feat, you usually don't know the words. We talked for hours both directions about love and marriage, children and depression. We talked and then in our speech there was comfortable silence. We bickered in Nashville like sisters bicker, the lines kind of like pantomine. You act like my mother, I'm the bratty sister, petulant and rude. There's strange comfort in that. Even when I'm behaving impatiently I realize that its a comfort I share with no one else. A comfort that makes it acceptable and funny when I throw my leg over your sleeping body when we share the same bed; I'm so fast asleep and you so familiar, just like when we were teenaged girls and I snuggled under the covers.