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Davey,
Do you believe in fate? That on the day you're born, it's decided when you'll die?
23 May 2010. 10:15 pm. Orchard Street. You. Me.
You reach towards me, and I see the moonlight reflected in your eyes. It's romantic right up until you grin at me and laugh. I tell you you're an idiot.
And then I kiss you.
'I've got to go,' you say, pulling away from me.
'Do you have to?' I don't want to be alone. I want to take you home and eat pizzas in front of rubbish television, and chat all night. And maybe do something else again, as well.
'Yes,' you say. 'I'm sorry. But I'll be round tomorrow. Kay?'
I nod. Reach up - you're taller than me, always have been. I kiss your cheek. I can feel your bristly beginnings of a beard beneath my lips.
Then you go. Leave me standing on the pavement, watching you.
You turn. Grin. Wave.
'Did I ever tell you how much I love you?'
