London

Not posted

Dear Jocelyn,

I'm writing to you from that place we had Indian food in Camden. 

Dear Jocelyn,

I'm writing to you from the place we had Indian food in Camden a long time ago. Remember? We had just met and you meet me with autumn in your eyes

your eyes swimming, and your black clothes falling on you like Grecian tatters, somehow elegant somehow disheveled, you are dazzling, you shine like the stars, you come in with winter in your heart sweeping the whole place up the way you do. The trees in Hyde Park had just shaken off their leaves like wet dogs, and I waited for you inside with the weight of the world falling off my shoulders, rolling to the floor when you walk in.

You say I should just have another drink while you sip your water and stare at the waitress collecting meager tips, catering to the simple minded, catering to us all. 

You always had such kindness and I saw right through it like some deranged artist that I am not. 

Most importantly is that you always kept your cool even though you were collapsing inside like some glamorous star falling off the west side of heaven. I'm not sure why I cannot sleep anymore but I have to tell you that I'll wait it out. I'll wait you out and catch you.

-Paul

Never Posted

Dear Paul, 

How is London treating you these days?  I remember the small veranda we had that first drink in that night you told me that you want to help me publish my work even though I barely met you a few weeks before. You sat like a patient saint with the weight of the world falling off your shoulders, rolling to the floor as I walked in. We never worked in real life but we worked in art form. 

Art form. 

What a simple concept, collecting meager dust, catering to the simple minded, catering to us all. 

You always had such kindness and I didn't see right through it despite being some deranged artist I believe I am not. Most importantly you  kept your cool despite collapsing inside like some glass dome tracing the constellations on the east side of Eden on the east side of heaven. 

We are so cliche but it's all been done before.

Posted

Dear Jocelyn,

I wrote you a letter a few days ago but never posted it. Our letters were so very similar and written possibly in the same week, I believe. I am out in Cornwall at the mo and need to hear you. I will call you tonight around 8pm if you can wait for my call. Maybe we can speak and you can let me know how Maine looks in autumn. I don't think I'll ever get to the other side of the pond the way things are going in Europe right now. 

Wait out my call. 

-Paul 

Posted

-

"Hello?"

"Joce - you there?"

"Hi"

"Hi, so, when did you finish work today?"

"We never really finish work"

"Cheeky"

"I have been writing so much"

"Excellent"

"Oh right it's all coming together, yeah"

"How d'you mean?"

"Nothing"

"You still tense up your shoulders?"

"We are making waves here"

"Atlantic"

"Let us not play this game"

"too easy?"

"Too hard. Listen, I have to go"

"Getting up early in the morning?"

"Always"

"Forgot what that's like. Who decided that we get up early?"

"the gods"

"Nah"

"fine, the mortals. Limited time"

"That's my girl"

"The phone is so raw"

"You can never strike out, I know"

"I know"

Paul smiles into the phone. Paul descends a staircase in my mind, winding winding down into the unknown, a cavern illuminated with every step. 

"Stop imagining mythical imagery"

"We think in loops we learned early on"

"We imprint"

"Like baby geese"

"Good night Joce"

"Night, P"

-

Dear Jocey, 

I'm engaged. It all happened very quickly. Come to the wedding. It's in Oxfordshire. There will be chiffon and champagne. Mother has, naturally, arranged it all. Remember that horrendous aspic you shared with her a million years ago? It is making a comeback. She said weddings are dishes best served cold. 

Actually, that's revenge.