Paris plus S

S is in Paris. It is quiet without him. The familiar turn of the key in the lock, his footsteps coming up the stairs to my study, and our happy hello, before he ruffles the rabbit M's head is a routine when I am working at home. I keep thinking S is in the living room and then I remember that he isn't here. A friend popped in earlier and I commented how strange, that I had once lived alone for seven years or so, and how I then relished my aloneness and, yes, I liked it very much, thanks. But things, they change. Life's funny.

He went earlier this evening, though I did not see him leave from shiny new St Pancras, as he went straight from work. I was invited to go with him (to see family who are staying in Paris for a while) but at first, money problems made this impossible for me (S offered to pay but I said no, and I can be very stubborn), and then work piled in and there are the practicalities of not being able to lift much at the moment thanks to my cracked/bruised ribs.

So, S is in Paris, the wonderful city of light and romance. We went there two months into knowing each other. I went there last year to visit my friend, Inz, and to have a break from my sleepless London bed. S was unable to come with me due to work madness. The air was fresh and cold. The oxygen and the delicious cityness of the place seeped into my being, waking me in a good way, giving me energy. S is there now. I am there, too, if only in my mind. It's not quite enough but it will have to do for now.