And the spring sunshine is warm upon her back.
Her latte, perfect.
Creaminess and foam, warmth and happiness.
A petit fours of velvety ganache besides.
He lives here. Somewhere.
And though she barely knows him, she is alert.
He is a possibility. An inevitability.
Her imagination hurtles into the distance.
A curiosity, merely, she reminds herself. Steady goes.
But the weekend twilight plays with her sense and dreamtime prevails:
A chance meeting. Some common ground.
Evenings strewn across his couch.
Sleepy morning coffee after long, deliciously drawn out night.
A new start. An old friend.
She reads on.
Her book is worthy of this spot, its tentacles ensnaring her attention.
But the undercurrent is strong.
Ideas shift. Feelings wake.
Excitement, long forgotten, returns.
She has given him qualities he may not, cannot, possess.
She drifts. And takes joy in the drifting.
So rarely is this kind of ride without recompense.
A stolen adventure for the lonely traveller,
Pleased these diversions are still within her reach.
Story in hand, daydream in mind,
She is sailing once more.
~ Old, New or True.