April 8., Napowrimo 2026. I’ve had this “theme” or “idea” for some time and today’s prompt seems to have triggered its waters to break. I’ve often wondered about the secrets inconspicuous items could tell.
She smells divine as she lowers herself on to me,
All tropical oiled thighs, herbal arms and citrus skin.
She’s a lady of consideration; she clearly cares for herself.
She orders a Margarita to compliment her sophisticated indulgence and the dissolving sun on the perfectly split iridescent horizon.
She is alone in her perfect unique moment.
There’s a woman at the bar.
A large, straw beach bag hides a towel and a library of escapism, trains that leave pain, regret and disappointment in other stations.
With a strong black coffee in her tired hand, she joins me.
The fresh aroma of overzealous toothpaste suggests the hen party went well. She sits.
I can feel the weight of her thoughts tumbling down the flights of her vertebrae,
Gaining mass with each floor passed.
I wish I could tell her all will be right,
But she’s mentally preparing for her return flight tonight,
Back to him and them and the inevitable unrelenting fight.
She grinds her lighter, and incends the end of her last Gaulloise in a way her dormant heart can only dream of, still,
We are alone in our perfect unique moment.
He drops his perfectly worn North Face blue rucksack by my side,
His gust of exhalation, sweaty brow, hint of BO and incongruous hoody tell me he’s just arrived.
Straight to his phone he goes; the mobile man on the move, on a mission.
He shares our location and his intentions, feeling smug at sailing through customs with his secrets still sown into his rucksack disguised by the scent of his JPG aftershave.
A week of hedonistic utopia awaits. He knows life’s clock has a time limited spring, and at his age, he has one eye over his shoulder looking for the horology man.
He swaps his trainers for Fat Face, ethno-enviro-correct sandals, necks the last of his obligatory arrival local cold beer, leaves his fingerprints of the frosted bottle, pushes me back under the table and heads off to his air BnB.
Same time next year for our unique perfect moment?
I hope so.
Missives & Musings 