It’s late at night as I sit here thinking of us. It’s minus ten outside and in here it’s minus you. I remember that first time we met we flirted; touching, kissing; fingers exploring. Even in the absence of a snapshot, the images are clear: I remember sharing a soul, the first time we made love for ever; the first time I broke your heart. I came back to you and you to me, that night of wind and fingers entwined and promises that would be broken.
The intensity of your gaze, the urgent pulse; an electric shock, you became I part of me and I of you. I will never forget.
The moments shared in obscure places, the rare public proclamations, the coffees and whiskeys and the sound of your voice as I listened, before I turned away again.
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1 comment:
Wow, that's really, really beautiful. I love short, sharp pieces like this. Your writing is astounding x
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