Organising it took ages. The same corner table in Marcel’s; the red dress; the precise day. A cloudless sky with hunter’s moon. But love finds a way.
My woman sits by the window, half illuminated by the restaurant’s discreet lamps, but already silvered by the moon outside. She is becoming one with the night. On the beach beyond, some creature cries, stitching the present to a timeless past.
“Did you bring her here?” she asks. “Your ex, Louise. Before she …”
Everything is the same. Now I will ask her the question. By her answer she will merge with Louise.