Memories Pt. 36

in the rain

Cold and dark, riding home in a downpour. My shorts and the hoody you love so much soaked before I make my first turn. August shouldn't chill like this.

I keep pedaling despite the spray from both wheels. Found a new secret way to where I went and am using it to get to where I am going.

Home, will be quiet and dark when I arrive, so I think of you. I think of you in your warm and cozy bed. The bed you bought, with your oversized soft sheets, thick blankets and lots of pillows. A bed so piled high with comfort, our cat couldn't always make it on the first try. The bed I slept easy in, next to you and all our animals.

I think of you snoring softly, mouth guard in place, grasping onto my arm, using me for warmth even in your sleep. Hushed words uttered only when I shift, when I move. Yes, even in your sleep you know what words to use to pierce my heart and make me yours.

I think about this and I ride, cold and wet.

I ride wondering where you are and whether you are dry and warm.

In my mind, I need you to be dry and warm; to be under covers, cozy and safe. With the cats and the blankets, safe and sound.

And I wish I was next to you, keeping the cold out.

Keeping the world at bay, so you can dream, warm and safe.

This is what I wished when I was riding home, on a dark and wet night.

Plans Pt. 11

It was pretty obvious that I wanted to get married. I asked you all the time. At some point I imagined you would say yes. I still think you may, one day.

I thought we would end up taking dance lessons. It was a weird thought, but I know how much you love your dancing reality TV. I always imagined that we would take lessons to prepare for that big dance at our wedding. Crazy, I know, but something I had convinced myself none the less.

Memories Pt. 35

early on, leaving a bar.

We spent the evening together. Talking and sharing, getting to know one another. Time passed and it got dark. Probably faster than either of us realized. A chill came into the air like the season changed. We were both surprised.

I gave you my zip up hoody. You were cold and I was in love, what else would I do. It looked so big on you, on your small frame, like you were a child playing dress up. But it made you warm and smile.

You left me to ride. Of course you can borrow it. No, I'll be fine.

A few days later, you handed it back, apologizing for not washing it. It's ok.

Putting it on, a little while later, I was bombarded by a sense of you. You perfume and smell clung to the collar. I had you near even when you weren't. Each movement, each shift brought you to me and I smiled.

It smells like you, I told you.

You smiled.

I didn't wash that shirt for as long as I could. When I did, the smell was gone and it hurt a little.

Now that you are gone, it is missing from my life.

That wonderful smell.

Focusing hard enough I can bring it back to me. It is long gone from the house, but memory can bring it back. In my mind, with some thought, it is there.

It reminds me of happiness and love, of summer and hugs, of soft caresses and nights lying next to you.

I miss the nearness of you. Of all those little things that my other senses knew so well.

I wish it were here, your smell, as if it never left.

Memories Pt. 34

inside your head

You put up so many emotional walls. It was so disheartening and frightening to see you paralyzed by fear. It reduced your ability to act to almost nothing. I hated to watch it. You internalised so much and let it build up so that it always seemed so insurmountable to you. So huge and scary.

It lead you to tell me about things as an afterthought, how you would have acted; how you wanted to act.

But you just couldn't act.

You couldn't take that first step. And that made me feel sad, helpless and a little foolish. Like I wasn't worth enough for you to make an effort.

You always said you wanted someone to push you, to make you better.

I would have helped you anyway you wanted; anyway you asked. I still would.

None of it was ever too big to overcome and I wanted to tell you that, but you never asked.

Memories Pt. 33

cancun

A couple of nights into our trip. We had a couple of speed bumps, but were now enjoying ourselves, people watching and lying on the beach.

We had avoided the steakhouse. Mainly because it was a steakhouse. You couldn't eat that. It also looked a little dodgy.

We finally went. We were so wrong. I finally got a cold beer in a glass and we actually ate real Mexican food on the resort. Our waiter was a cute little guy, attentive and warm. He talked our ear off and brought use everything we ordered. He didn't blink when we asked for hot sauce. He just countered with 'No one ever asks, but I will check with the chef.'

What came out was an odd concoction. Shredded habaneros that had been fire roasted and mixed with garlic and lime. 'I am sorry, but this is all he has', he said. But it was great.

When he came back to freshen our drinks he asked us what we thought. We told him with gusto how good it was. He smiled, 'they keep it in the kitchen for the staff. Sometimes the cooks come in after too much tequila. It is the cure for a hangover.'

We both thought this was hilarious. It was an interesting view into a Mexico we hoped to see.

We had a wonderful meal, eating too much and drinking to our fill.

I was always amazed at how close I felt with you just staring at you over a restaurant table. So many meals in the time we had together. There was always a closeness there, a spark.

Sharing a meal, touching hands or a quick brush against a leg under the table, you leaning into me with my arm around you. I loved spending that time with you.

I miss it.

I miss you.

Memories Pt. 32

the first summer

We had been hanging out every night. You still called it dating. I was playing it close to the vest, not wanting you to go.

We rode our bikes everywhere. To parks, many parks. We lay on grass and played on swings. I think we saw every park west of bathurst.

We went to bars for drinks and conversation. Bars we wouldn't grace ever again and some we made our own.
You held my hand and kissed my lips. You looked amazing, as you always did, but you also glowed and your eyes gleamed with expectation and excitement.
You kept dropping hints, but I was obtuse. Well only a little. I didn't want to share you. And I was a little embarrassed.

Eventually, your pressure worked. Back you came. We went straight to my room after a short tour. And we never left. That summer we spent so much time in that room, on that patio.

But it was the first night, I remember.

'What took you so long', you breathed. Immediately switching, to lighten the moment, 'I thought I'd never get invited in', you teased.

I remember that night. Like it was yesterday.

How you made me feel wanted, how you filled my heart and made me smile.

You are remarkable. I have thought this for years.

You are kind and sweet, full of caring and compassion. Your faults I want to protect you from; your strengths I want to lean on.

Nothing has changed. I look at your face and see joy and love and a future. I live and breathe for your smile; for those eyes.

But, I need you to come find me. You need to act.

Three years ago today...

You made a decision.

I never understood it and forgave you instantly. I still don't understand it, and I want to give you the world.

Was it right then?

Memories Pt. 31

the front step

If I worked early, you weren't often home when I got home, so I had time to wait and think about you and dinner or plans for the evening.

Often, I would sit out on the front step and wait.

I loved waiting for you, waiting to see you walk or ride up the street. On your bike, I'd hear your bell. And it would make my heart ache.

Walking, you'd saunter up the street, always carrying a bag that looked to heavy for you. Getting closer you'd see me and greet as you always did.

'Hey you!' or 'Muchacho!'

Either would make my blood race and a smile flash across my face.

I still sit on my front step, enjoying the late day sun.

I know you aren't going to come up the street, but I can't help but wait for you.

It is what boys in love do.

They wait for their girl.

Sleeplessness

You were always the strong one. You took care of me when I was weak or scared. You would smile and put your arm around me, whispering 'Oh muchacho...' until you could make the pain or fear go away.

You have been strong through all of this.

Last night, I awoke, at first I thought it was from the rain, but then a new uneasiness set in. I felt like you were hurting, where ever you were, you were confused and in pain.

I wanted to find you and help you. To hold you close and feel your tears on my neck. I would make it better. Whatever it was I would force it away. I would protect you.

You wouldn't be afraid again.

Memories Pt. 30

fall or winter, our first

You were visiting my house and it was cold. I kept my house cold, I liked it and was poor. The roommate didn't pay utilities.

You had come over to see me. We wanted to do something, to get out of the house. You had five dollars to your name. I think I had less.

We went for a walk. It was cold. We held hands. You liked to interlock our fingers. I prefered the comfort of palm to palm. You always won.

We wandered down Bloor, east towards the annex. No plan, just walking.

Want to grab a coffee, I suggested.

'Its too late. I have to get up early. How about a tea?'

Tea it is.

Stopping at the coffee shop at dovercourt, we got tea. Me lemon, you mint.

And headed south.

Turning west again, we went looking at the houses. Our first stop was a bench in front of a church, not far south and not far west off dovercourt. We sat and let our tea cool, breathing clouds as we talked about our days.

'Can you hear that?'

Yeah. Were is it coming from?, I replied

Looking down, toward the church, we saw we were standing in front of a row of basement windows, well lit from the inside.

Sitting there, a old heavy set man was playing a well tuned piano in his shabby well worn suit. He was practicing some classical piece I won't remember. And he was good.

We were speechless. Drinking our tea, listening to this man pour out his soul on an old stand up piano alone in a church basement.

Inching closer, keeping warm we shared, in silence, our private concert.

It was magical.

A moment like no other.

But we had a lot of those.

Your party over.

All your friends gone home.

Your first instinct is to come here and check up on me.

How is that supposed to make me feel?

I have said enough.

The memories continue and some day I will share everything, and more, that is unseen.

Now it is up to you.

Memories Pt. 29

dark night, on the path

Early on we rode our bikes a lot together. You love you bike and always said you felt better, no matter what, after you got to ride your bike. I think it made you feel like a kid again. Your face glowed after a ride, beautiful and alive.

I didn't ride my bike much before I met you. Some, but not much. You brought that out in me.

You were always afraid of how I rode. You thought I was a little reckless, but strangely you were the one had more close calls. The night all the drunk idiots stepped out in front of you on bloor scared me. I felt powerless as I watched you fall.

I usually rode behind you when we traveled. Riding reckless and fast, sometimes I would look back and you would be falling behind. I hated that.

You were my guide through the nooks and crannies of the city. Staring at your bum the whole way, you would take me to our destination safe and sound. You would guide me through. I didn't even have to think.

Riding home from the east along the path. In the park near strachan, where the path gets twisty and dark, I felt the loss. It was so dark and my light wasn't very bright.

I looked up, but you weren't there. You weren't in front of me to guide me.

And I didn't know what to do.

How would I get through without you?

Memories Pt. 27

a hot humid sunday, early afternoon.

We had been invited to brunch by a friend of yours. It was supposed to be a pretty big function, but everyone else couldn't make it. So it was just the two of us and the two of them and their new baby.

We had never been to their place before and didn't know what to expect. They were both chefs and we were under strict instructions not to bring anything except a couple bottles of proseco.

Off we went on our bikes, just barely beating the downpour as we finally found there apartment.

It was a cozy little place with a tiny kitchen, and open living and bedrooms only separated by pocket doors. Their little one crawling all over the hardwood, enjoying himself. An idyllic art deco
picture in a more moden age.

The aromas were amazing. Caramelized onion quiche and maple glazed bacon. With a hardy spinach salad on the side. The food was simple but oh so good. And the free flowing mimosas didn't hurt.

The company wasn't bad either. Getting to know these new friends. Playing all afternoon with their son.

Talking and sharing, it was fun and nice. Nice to meet some of your friends for a change. To spend time in your world with you.

Afterwards, days later, you told me that you talked to them. They had received the small thank you gifts I sent them.

In a rare moment of pride, you said that your fiend had thought I was great and you were so lucky because she thought I would make a great father.

It was the first time you ever mentioned the thought of you and I and children. I still remember the look on your face.

It was happiness.

Contentedness.

And it was pride.

Memories Pt. 26

home, the first time

Fresh off the plane, I picked you up at the airport myself. We were both excited. You hadn't been away on a trip in a very long time. I hadn't been excited about a girl probably longer.

You agreed to travel so far without knowing me very well. It was a fools errand to ask, but you said yes none the less.

We hugged and kissed at the foot of the stairs. I had never done that before or since in my home town airport. It felt right, like you were coming home to me.

We went back to my parents, where I was staying. It was late, I don't think they were up. It wouldn't matter, the guest room was made up.

Arriving, I showed you your room, the bathroom and and a quick tour of the house. We whispered to keep from waking them, but I am sure they woke anyway.

We parted, each off to get ready for bed.

Doors closed, but lights on, with a glow coming from the crack beneath. The house was mostly silent. Turns taken in the bathroom, our paths didn't cross.

Darkness, as the lights turned off. Quiet and calm.

Minutes later, a faint rapping was heard. My door or yours, I am not sure, but it was quickly answered.

Door opened, in the darkness we touched, hand on hip or shoulder, ushering the other inside.

You climbed into the futon. A futon not built for two, but one that fit.

Secrets told and promises made, you stayed with me every night, creeping out after the house was silent.

Never once sleeping in that spare bed.

Plans Pt. 10

You wanted to travel. It was such a driving force in you. You hadn't had much opportunity since you were a child and you wanted to before you got too old.

I had done a little when I was younger, but not in a while. I always thought you were a little jealous of some of the places I'd been. I love to travel, but worried about the expense.

We had talked about a few places, Paris, South Carolina, some place warm and NYC.

We had barely touched the list and it felt so incomplete. It was something left unfinished.

I still plan to go to those places, but when I think of them I can't do it without thinking of you.

New York, Paris, all of them do not exist without you.

Memories Pt. 25

late winter early spring, on the highway near Belleville.

We were driving to visit your father. It was cold. Everything had thawed and refrozen. Your little green car always had problems with the heater. It was either inferno or arctic. You liked inferno. It hurt my eyes.

My hand was in your lap. It always seemed to end up there when you drove. You are such a good driver. Given the right opportunity you could have gone far. Indy or Daytona.

Laid across your thigh just above your knee. It wrapped around clutching the soft skin of your inner thigh. I loved how it felt on my hand and in my heart. The distance from seat to seat, over the brake and gearbox, seemed farther than most of our roadtrips. I couldn't help myself. I had to remain connected. Plus the way you moved those glorious legs as you drove made it so much more worthwhile.

Just outside Belleville, on a cold winter's night, relaxed, enjoying our music, heart by way of hand connected to you, this beautiful wonderful woman, that, with a thunderous thunk, the transmission fell out of your car.

We sat there. You tried the the car of couple of times, but it wouldn't take the gear. Eventually, you gave up and called CAA.

Waiting for the tow truck, it started to get cold. I made a couple of jokes and probably suggested something to keep us warm. You laughed at me as you always did when I suggested such things. It was a wonderful laugh and look. A look that said, stop being silly, you cute boy, that will never happen, but if you play your cards right we'll see later. I love that look.

We sat there in the dark, before he came and picked us up, and made us sit up front with him. Your coverage didn't get us far, just to the rest stop on the highway, but you had a plan. You always had a plan.

We called your father. It was late, but you knew he'd come. He would fix it.

Sitting in the McDonalds we both started doing work. It was going to be a long wait so why not.

That's how he found us, laptops open sitting close together, waiting. And he had Ann in tow.

Out we went to the car, to which he tied a stout rope and tied the other end to his car. Is he nuts, I thought.

'I'll tow you to the hanger', he said. He owns a plane so he has a hanger. It was only 60 km away at night in winter on country roads.

'You'll have to work the brakes so we don't crash", he told you. 'But don't stop too fast'

We got in the car, I could see you were scared, but you always trust your father. And you should, he is remarkable, like you.

Off we went.

Dark and winding roads, frost and fear. Light touches on the brakes, many little accidents that never seemed to happen. You stayed so focused. I was pretrified, but you never lost your cool.

We made it eventually, but not without a few minor mishaps. Nothing a tractor and man possessed couldn't solve.

We seemed to finally make it to your family home at three or four in the morning, all of us exhausted and cold, especially Ann.

Snuggling up together in your bed, trying to keep warm as we waited for the heat to kick in, I decided there and then I was going to be that strong for you, to solve your problems, to be the one that you called when you were in trouble. I didn't know how, but I was going to be that much better.

For you.

Memories Pt. 24

birthdays, past

I am not very easy to give gifts to. I tend to get anything I want for myself and rarely, it turns out, I give hints enough for you to figure out what I want.

You struggled with a number of birthdays and Christmas'. You were so stressed out it was painful to watch. You wanted to make everything perfect, but it wasn't necessary. I was so happy with everything you did.

You were so successful so many times. You gave me a photo I coveted months earlier and forgot about. I love that photo. It makes my heart hurt everytime I pass it

You also gave me lots of hot sauces. Something I love and love to share with you. You always bought them from the same shop on the Danforth. Different flavours and types. You sampled and chose well. I loved them all.

Tonight, running from the rain I ducked into a porch for shelter. Looking into the windows to pass the time I realized this was the shop.

You see, I had never been. You went there so many times for me. To provide for me; to make me happy. You always told me I would love it and we should go together, but we never did.

Staring into the darkened displays, wet and cold, waiting for the rain to abate, I wished you were with me, standing by my side, smiling. You see, in my mind we were about to go in, to sample their wares. You were excited, as you always get when you are about to show me something new.

In my mind, you just wanted to make me happy, just like oh so many times before.

Plans Pt. 9

I have always had a bunch of dreams about opening my own business. Back when I was much younger I used to talk about opening a small rep cinema with a café and a liquor license. Something tasteful and small that would be a destination for those folks that liked old movies, a glass of beer and possibly a sandwich or a salad. I don't think about it much anymore, but it comes back to me from time to time. Like tonight, for example.

For the longest while, I have always thought we would open your business. A clinic, most likely in Kingston, but some place downtown in a university town, where we could be part of a business community. Nice and tasteful, but urban and young.

I would manage the staff and the front and you would manage the care. We would be a team.

I didn't stop there. I knew you and your sister talked a lot about a coffee shop. Something fun and arty, with a community gallery and a place she could sell her jewellery and crafts.

It expanded in my head. We would do a small trade in used books and carry local bands' cds. Maybe even sell concert tickets. A café that was also a cultural hub for whatever town we lived in.

Wood and art everywhere, it was an incredible place, cozy and fun.

A place you would love to visit.

Plans Pt. 8

I never forgot it.

You mentioned it so early, but kept returning to it time and time again. It was one of those things that people think about, rarely, but think about it and make vague plans that they come back to at a later date, modify and store again, to repeat.

I remember one time when we talked about it, it became big. You had your ideas and in a fit of intrinsic mania I threw a giant loop into it, just to make it that much more wacky and weird.

But without the weirdness, I wanted to see the Carolinas with you.

You had vacationed there when you were a child and desperately wanted to share the beaches that you remembered with someone.

I wanted to be that someone. I had never been, but I so desperately wanted to change that.

To drive south, on the freeways and byways. To order grits and chicken fried steak in a roadside diner. To lounge on a southern beach and stay in motels and camp grounds.

All of those things I wanted to do.

To take that southern roadtrip with you. To be on the run, on the lam, whatever, heading south.

I wanted to do those things

I wanted to do them with you.

Memories Pt. 23

summer, vacation for one work for the other

I met you there while you were on a business trip. You suggested it, than changed your mind and when you were finally convinced to change back you bought into it fully, calling me all excited about everything. Have you always been this confused?

Before the door was fully opened, you were already showing off your room. It was too big for just one, must have been fate.

I had done my research, knew a couple of places to eat. You liked the idea of a date and chose the poshest one. It was also the closest but you were famished.

Off we went on an adventure. Only 3k to walk, no problem. You were sure it would help our appetites.

Both of us with GPS' in hand and still we got lost. Back and forth we walked covering the same ground over and over. Never getting frustrated; that wasn't our way. Talking and laughing like it was no big deal. Dinner would wait.

Finally, back to the hotel, cab called, off we went again. Funny, he didn't know where the place was either.

Server at the restaurant welcomed us as we, unaware, entered through the back door.

'Were you the folks that called and said you'd be ten minutes?', she asked.

Yes.

'That was over an hour ago', she chuckled.

It had become a comedy of errors, but that was part of the charm.

You love life's little adventures and love to share them.

I just loved being with you.

Memories Pt. 22

dead of winter, the Horseshoe tavern

It was a Tuesday and we didn't have anything to do. Heard about the new arts & crafts band Young Galaxy from a website or two and they were playing a free show on queen.

We bundled up and went down.

The Horseshoe was pretty empty and we threw our winter coats in the corner; grabbed a beer and listened to the other bands on the bill.

It wasn't until very late that the band we came to see came on the stage. We were both tired and didn't have much more money for beer. I had to work the next day, but didn't want to disappoint you.

They introduced themselves and then dove right in to a song we had never heard. At some concerts it takes a little while for the crowd and band to jive, but not that night.

We were leaning up against a pillar, me standing behind you. We both were en rapt, listening to a wall of sound that was oh so much more than a combination of its parts.

As you did many times since, you reached back and made sure I was still there. Touching my leg and keeping your hand there, for reassurance and closeness and especially the connection. You did that a lot at concerts and I loved it every time. Making sure I knew you were around and that you loved sharing the experience with me. It made me melt and puff out my chest.

I would instinctively touch you back, placing my hand on your hip, where it fit so well, and holding it there or brushing my thigh up against your bum. Anything to let you know I, too, was in that moment. With you.

I would often try my best to whisper something in your ear, but you'd often not hear. Ear plugs and loud music brushing my words off like pollen in a breeze. Landing somewhere unseen.

Concerts with you meant more to me than the music and show. They were times where we two became one in a room full of strangers, doing something we both loved with the one we loved.

A shared experience that we could smile about and relive later, when we were old and gray.

Today, I got some terrible news.

My first reaction was to call you.

But I didn't.

And I can't shake the feeling that I should.

Plans Pt. 7

I always expected we would end up in Kingston. You told me once you were worried I would want to move home. You couldn't live that far from your family, so it wasn't something feasible.

I never dreamed we would move there, but I never told you that.

I don't know Kingston at all, but it reminds me of my home and I would have been happy there.

Being close to your father would have been a treat and I would have looked forward to having him over for dinner and keeping him company when he got lonely.

I would have done anything to make you happy.

I still would.

Memories Pt. 21

summer, in the County. the first time.

The first time I actually got to go to the County it was raining, hard. I did most of the driving, and I am sure you were very confused by us making it there alive as you couldn't see anything for the entire trip. It was dark and the rain was coming down in sheets, but by the time we made it it had eased off.

We arrived at the trailer at night and I couldn't see anything or even get my bearings. We unpacked quickly, you turning on the water and power and me just firing things in from the car. Completed, we made our beds and soon were off to sleep.

The following day, it still rained, so we explored. We drove all over the County, visiting different places, following all the tourist signs. At Long Dog, we were turned off by the owner's pretentiousness and didn't even stay for a sample. You showed me the cheesemaker. Then we got lost down a country road, but eventually saw the sign for the cider maker.

Off we went to Waupoos to find us some cider. I don't think you had come down this road before. Passing orchard after vineyard and signs advertising a pancake breakfast we drove up the hill and finally found the old stone building of the cidery.

They treated us like gold, giving us free samples, talking up their different blends and brews. Admiring the best view of the county, we bought a bunch of bottles and wished them well, hoping to come back and try their cafe sometime.

And we came back, almost every time we went to the County.

It became our place, our little find that no one else had discovered.

Last night, in Toronto, I had a glass of Waupoos cider. Staring at the coaster as the bartender poured my drink, I couldn't help but think of you, of our life and our place so far from here and now.

And I missed you.

Memories Pt. 20

early the first summer.

Money wasn't the best. You were working part-time and I was paying for the house mostly by myself. I wasn't used to all the expenses of a girlfriend so money was tight. Tighter than at the end.

I needed a haircut, but didn't want to go see my barber. Mostly because I didn't want to pull myself away from you, but I also didn't want to spend the money.

I suggested it and you looked shocked like you didn't believe. You hadn't done it in a long time and felt the pressure of my job. To be honest, I was scared. I thought it would be fun, but I didn't think through the possible worst cases. I could have always shaved my head, but work may not have appreciated that.

So I asked you to cut my hair and got a chair and a towel and proceeded out to the patio. You hesitantly got the clippers and came out after me.

'Are you sure about this?', you posed.

What's the worst that can happen? I can always go get him to fix it or shave my head, I replied wrapping the towel around my shoulders.

And away we went, clippers buzzing, you shaking a little. You concentrating a lot.

I am not sure I have ever seen you concentrate like that, not doing a crossword or playing disc golf. You were totally enrapt, not wanting to screw up my head.

And it was fine. You did a good job. I didn't have to go see my barber or shave my head.

I was so proud of you and happy you did a good job. I hadn't had a woman cut my hair since my mother when I was a child and you had done her proud, no bowl cut here.

I should have let you do it more often.

Memories Pt. 19

fall or winter, after volleyball

We were at a pub with friends, having our post game drink and some food. The bill came and I smiled at you.

I love the mints here. They are giant lifesavers and are my favourite, I whispered to you.

I tried to grab them all, but backed down after the feigned look you gave me and let you have one.

Making our way to the car, I demolished six to eight of those tasty little things.

'Don't crunch them', you said. 'They'll last longer'

I can't help it, I muttered back.

You seemed to savour yours and even hid a couple in your purse.

Much much later, coming back from shopping you got giddy.

'I got a treat for you!', you could barely contain yourself, pulling out a giant bag of the giant lifesavers.

I was floored and ate a bunch, but you hid them in the candy drawer so I couldn't get all of them.

As time passed, like some sort of angel, you would hand me a candy when I least expected it. When I was driving you'd go into you purse and hand me one. After coffee, a jaunty 'would you like mint?' and one would appear. Sitting in a cinema waiting for the picture to start, you'd open your closed hand to reveal two or three sitting there glowing in the light from your smile.

You seemed to have them hidden in every purse, waiting. Waiting for a time you knew you could brighten my day.

But, you see, just having you there did that anyway.