We’ve both had meltdown moments about this. First me, then him, now he’s gone again I think I’m due another. It’s so much, so soon, an overloading of the senses, creating an almighty confusion in two people each just about able to admit they are notoriously bad at relationships. But still want it. Oh how I want it.
So I insist to him, he must be married, making it all up even. It can’t all be true. He can’t be true. What I don’t say but mean is that I am so afraid this could be it, he could important enough for me to turn my life upside down that for now I will look for any reason to pretend to myself he isn’t.
He is there, a moment, memory, pleasure, unexpected amongst the mundane rituals of my daily life. Doing laundry, amongst my socks, so small and brightly coloured I stumble over large stray black strangers. Boxer shorts hang proud a stark white alongside my dental floss thongs. His shirt worn by me, stirs memories and releases faint traces of his scent from its resting place as I open and close the bathroom door.
He has left his mark both here and upon me.