Two years back. Long ago, it seems so. But where? I know you remember. It was your words, your text I scrolled on the wall. Your truths lie beneath three coats of brilliant white emulsion. Your truth lies. Truth lies. Lies truth. As perhaps does my perception. Or lack of it. A certain frustration builds through inarticulate jottings. One line may perhaps have poetical charm but it doesn’t compensate for the lack of eloquence.
And there was that cafe. Cold December morning. Nearing Christmas. Could have been Christmas Eve. Walk through the door. Not a soul in the place. Just gone seven. I would be the first order of the day. I knew the coffee would be shit. So against the grain I would plonk for tea. Strong tea. Builders tea. Stuff you can stand the teaspoon up in. I wanted poached eggs but a far less grandiose version of eggs florentine or eggs Benedictine that you afford yourself. Whoever you may be.
I look out the window. Surrounded the beauty of landscape. On an island, the mainland so close. Don’t stand there. Come over. Sit down on the chair. I’ll move the plates. I just had some scrambled eggs. I have friends who keep chickens. When there’s a surplus they pass on a half dozen or a dozen. Look out at that water. At the bay. It seduces the eyes. In the summer at dusk I watch the deer pass. Sit down. Absorb the dusk, inky, haunting, beautiful, aching. I’ll get you a drink. I want a drink. We can share a bottle and thoughts. If you don’t mind I’ll sit on the sofa. I don’t want to see out.
Yesterday I booked four nights in an hotel. Then I looked at train times and fares. Had I made a mistake. Was four nights enough? Reconsidered. Began looking at flights. Not just to the city of destination. But beyond. There is a beyond isn’t there.
The hotel is near where the cafe used to be. I thought I could have rung Andy and rented that apartment with your words buried on the wall. Stayed there and could have walked to the cafe and eaten eggs in the morning. But it doesn’t work like that.
Then, I was drifting, moving away from a warm nucleus, listlessly floating. When I fell to earth it was unfamiliar. I found a shelter. And love. But not an intimate love. I don’t need to look out the window. I need to be slapped in the face or kissed, I need to tell a joke or share breakfast; I’ll put on some coffee and break the eggs.