After many many months do I enjoy the silence I’ve created around myself — born of a sudden aversion to conversation. I’ve just sat -recumbent on my chair- and stared out of the window as London illuminates. Descending planes flicker in the blue-grey sky and you come back to me…
The scent of your presence, an aristocratic blend of Chanel Blue and tobacco; the lucidity of your blue eyes. The nape of your neck and how it showed against the collar of a certain grey jumper. The brawn of your arms when you undid the furniture.
Vivid in my reminiscence, I can imagine with certainty how you must have smiled at the stewardess when your plane departed for an Eastern Land. And I wonder if it were a black t-shirt that you wore.
You are (so) irrevocably endeared to me.
