Room to Fall
now, and she could hear the far-off sounds of horns blaring that indicated rush hour had begun.
Slats of light filtered through the shutters and into their living room, bathing the potted plants in a kaleidoscope of golden light—and without giving herself the chance to overthink things she grabbed the post-it on the coffee table and rummaging through her bag for a ball point, which she used to hastily scribble the words: Tu me manques, the French equivalent of ‘I miss you’, which instead translated to, ‘You are missing from me’, and after much thought she kissed it, leaving an impression of blood red lips on paper.
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