Butterflies dying.

You told me that if I thought about you hard enough then I could draw you to where I am.

That was years ago.

It should still work shouldn’t it?

Depends if I want to be drawn.

Fair enough, I guess you don’t.

It would be easier to come round and see me, you know where I live.

There’s a difference between drawing you here, and me visiting you there. It’s been a long time.

About thirty years, give or take. What do you remember?

The beach in Sitges, night-time, the sand, a circus tent and soap bubbles. And the bed in the hotel.

That’s it?

The hey stacks in England, the back of a lorry in Zurich. The hill outside Swansea, the bath, the old Citroën van.

Why the hill?

The first time.

Really?

Or a change. A step that you couldn’t step back from. Certainly a bath.

So, is that it?

The sports centre in Kentish Town, the platform at Victoria Railway Station.

I cried.

I pushed you, I’m sorry.

Regrets?

I have a few, but too few for naming.

Je ne …

Rien?…..  I wonder…… The room in Revel, there was a rat in the roof.

We went to the café after the market.

It’s dark, shadows, I don’t see it so well. But I see your room in Barcelona.

The bed again?

The mattress was thin.

There was a cassette player.

Bob was singing.

Anything else?

Why am I doing all the work?

You are the one trying to draw me close.

Fair enough. The haystacks in England.

We’ve been there.

The van in Essex, in Wales… is that it?

You tell me.

No, Edinburgh too. You didn’t understand.

I never did.

On the beach in Essex.

Is there one?

It felt like one…………… Copenhagen.

The courgette?

The courgette!

In the van, early morning, I was asleep, you had something… a bird?

A seal.

It died. 

Everything does.