Daresay I am falling for myself again, savoring the emptiness around. The sweet absence and the abandon. Of roaming around the house wearing nothing but a t-shirt, two sizes too big, a cig between the fingers, a book clasped to the chest, messed-up hair tied untied alike. Sitting In the balcony, on the floor, on the kitchen slab and pick up from where I'd left. Put on old music, soaking it up; fingertips brushing against the wall, the surfaces, the cold tap water, empty utensils - the mundane beauty of it all. Countless cups of black tea in either of the two mugs, as if taking turns. Now red, then yellow. Cooking in the evening; glancing across endless possibilities. Now and then breaking into an impervious smile.
Want to not let go of these times.