a week
September 18th, 2005
Memory prints. (weird shared genetics.) Small ears, nonexistent baby armhair, smooth skin. Soft blond hair like no one has. Nose crooked to the left. (I wonder what you make notes of.)
A week of sitting on the stairs of the old fire station, looking for sunny spots, drinking endless cups of coffee. Time is something that happens far away. There is only this, and board games, bad jokes and cigarette breaks which are more of an alone-thing for me. I steal moments to spend on my favourite place and write a bit everyday.
First night we almost yell at each other, but somehow that feels more true than anything after. Some night I sit down on the sofa and he wraps his arm around me, a caress on my back. And we kiss, and kiss.
Home everything is how I left it, only neater and smaller. New old chairs for the kitchen, at last. A postcard from Beijing. A broken oven door and a flatmate away for a week. Real life still seems very far away..