Room 147

The waiter fusses around us – your eyes are on me as I try to eat my melon without shaking. A profound moment, but so unexpected. I have known you for 30 minutes, yet I watch as a lifetime passes in-between the seconds. We’re in a posh hotel somewhere near Cologne and everything has changed.

 

I watch you move towards the bar; your step quick and lithe - your white shirt glimmering in the dim evening light. I have time to wonder at the swiftness of it all. I have time to ponder your piercing blue eyes before you are back; gin and tonic in hand and I lose myself in the familiar taste - cheeks flushed, lips rosy. As you lean back in your chair my head swirls with your movements.

 

Later, walking through the softly lit, marbled reception area towards your room. You’re a wanderer just like me. Never settling, always moving on. But even wanderers need some sort of stability and you’re not going to find it in me. Yet, my feet move towards you in that room, so crowded by your mind; your presence spilling out like water over all my edges and cracks.

 

You don’t touch me, instead you touch the inner corners of my mind. It’s like you know that you have to go there first to keep me, just like I do.

 

Our words dance between us, too personal, too intimate for the setting. We are seeing clients tomorrow and I know this is not suitable, but I can’t stop, and neither can you. It’s like we are trapped in an unexpected dream and neither one of us can decipher if it is a good one yet. Will this look different in hindsight? When you leave, will these memories linger?

 

The morning after is bleak. I am dressed to a tee and last night rests heavy on both of us – change can do just that. Your face is pale, your features serious and hard-set. I remind myself we were just playing pretend, but I convince no one. We start moving towards your BMW, my bag uncomfortably bouncing between us. Your body is too close to me once we sit down, and I feel like the air is being pushed out of my lungs as I try to make conversation, ensuring that we don’t acknowledge just how deep the impact of last night was. Then you turn to look at me and I feel naked and defenceless under your gaze.

 

As we start to move forward, I realise there is no going back this time.