The Way We Do That Thing

The Way We Do That Thing

There is a strange little secret,
In the way we do that thing,
A silent kind of understanding,
That doesn’t need explaining.

We never seem to plan it,
It simply happens when it does,
One look can start the whole story,
Without a single word from us.

We walk around the obvious,
Pretending we don’t know,
Then laugh about the smallest things,
And somehow let the feeling grow.

You know the little signals,
I know exactly what they mean,
The things we leave unspoken,
The things that live between.

Perhaps the world would question it,
Perhaps they’d never understand,
But some things aren’t for explaining,
They’re written without a plan.

We have our own peculiar language,
Made from glances, smiles and air,
A strange collection of moments,
That somehow takes us somewhere.

And when the moment disappears,
We carry on as though it’s fine,
But somewhere underneath the ordinary,
That little secret still survives.

Maybe we are both pretending,
Maybe neither wants to know,
Maybe some things feel much safer,
When you never let them show.

So let the world keep guessing,
Let them wonder what we mean,
For we both know that little rhythm,
That strange space in between.

And if tomorrow brings the question,
We can simply smile and say,
There are some things without an answer,
Like the way we do that thing.