for you remember that purple light you always admired from my kitchen window? the light on the now-cold chimney. It reminded us about where we were, sometimes we forgot.
walk with me in the city at night. The empty eerie spaces. I take your hand, and we cross a square, a street, the river maybe, to reach our favourite empty places. Listen to the slight wind, traffic far away, not here in the centre. And the vent from a gloomy empty office building rumbles slowly. The broad sidewalk so wasteful without the thousand feet that descend on it by day; a rubbish van with blinking orange lights - whom is it warning? Shop windows too bright, for our attention only, and some workers stocking shelves inside.
Remember me coming home from those shifts? You made me breakfast and I stayed in bed to read all day.
Our steps echo in an empty alley with its damp façades and small plants trying to grow in corners. The clouds are orange, like I saw them a hundred times from our bed under the drafty window.

You pull me closer and I squeeze your hand.  ¶ 3:12 AM