Sometimes we stand or walk holding on to each other like our younger selves once did. An arm around a waist, a palm in a palm or perhaps our bodies merely brushing as we walk alongside.
And sometimes we poker up and put great, big swathes of physical distance between us and yell and glower across the gaps at one another.
And then there are times when one of us is distracted, caught up in the swirls and eddies of living, while the other wistfully stands by, unhappy with the distance and hoping that it ends soon.
When we are old and white-haired and stiff-limbed, shall we still have all this?