Day 31

 I play back everything that has happened today and this might be the most significant moment. Life roars in front sometimes, reminding you, or me, that it’s there. Currently, my world is seen through Amy Hempel coloured glasses so though I can’t hear your whisper voice and you forget my drink order twice, when I realise you find it hard to look directly at customers, I see you brighter than before, more damaged and anxious. Under the arch of white walls and Christmas menus that face the door, you put black pepper on my pizza in the most profound way.

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Day 24

The door jangles like Christmas and you are engrossed in a large-print wordsearch. You have an entire puzzle book. I remember sitting with my grandma, finding the letters together, using a red pen. You wear a t-shirt, glasses slipping down your nose. Fairylights are sellotaped around the counter. I present my jacket in a damp lump, you say it’s nothing a dry clean won’t sort out. And you say confidence, enthusiasm and a smile will guarantee success. What I like best about you is your flashy jewellery and that you want to speak to me as much as me you.

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