20 October 2011


The half finished bottle of champagne rattles as the fridge door is opened, and my tired eyes, pushed in at the corners, take in the array of empty wine bottles on the kitchen worktop.
You have been unreachable all day, since we kissed each other goodbye, three or four times in the underground car park this morning, and even though I know it is because your phone doesn't work while you are in my country, still I feel the gap.
I watched the airport arrivals board online yesterday, calculating how long the drive was and when you would get here, and when the bell went I buzzed you in without even checking on the screen that it was you. Today I am checking your arrival at the other end, so I can make an informed guess when you will turn your phone back on and touch me with your thoughts. I forgot, in all the wonder of you being next to me, forgot to ask what flight you were on, and so I have a number of options, scenarios in my head; if you are on the first one, I should hear from you in the next twenty minutes, because right now, I know with sleepy certainty that you will call me first thing you do on landing.
By the time I have thought this through, that flight has landed, and I wait, with a glass of yesterdays pink fizz.
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