As I was walking, I noticed your perfume, so sweet I think in it I smelt the floral undertones of the lily which is heavily masked by something fruitier, more you.

I was walking back to my apartment, I am not a person of many possessions, everything I need is hidden within my imagination; and to feed that imagination all I need is people to dream of, imagine more about them than they ever could in experiences, perhaps unworldly and even if you will, immoral and ignoble. 

 I notice how your wrist, so slight and slender, the blue veins which tell many stories curve neatly upwards like traces of smoke, the wrist it flicks so gently to twirl your hair the perfect shade of the succulent, cherry fruits. Your fingers curl so politely, you look at me for only one moment and I notice the necklace you wear, a St. Christopher’s, I wonder then whether you are religious. But I decide in your eyes that you are not, your parents were and they are long gone, calmed by the earth from that which they came and therefore you wear the necklace as a sign of graceful respect. I am embarrassed by your honesty.

 A beeping is transmitted throughout the air, vibrating off nearby objects, the mirrors of the cosy lift and the sound enters my ear. You are loved. The message makes you smile as you read it and your neatly painted silver nails, which are so cold, play delicately at the keys. You have been told a joke which makes you laugh, your teeth are so creamy white, and your dentist has taken good care of you. It is only as your mouth opens to reveal them I notice your lipstick, so pale and almost unnoticeable, it blends in with the natural colour and tone of your face, the colours and shades that you’ve been given. Yet it highlights the colour with the highest precision and makes your lips look so succulent and juicy, so tempting, I can tell you are a perfectionist.

 And then just as I get carried off in a world of dreams your floor arrives, floor no. 7 of this man-built monstrosity. You walk out of the lift, you don’t even nod your head at me, you don’t recognise me even though I’ve been watching you, you don’t know me or care for me. As you walk placing one foot in front of the other your hair bounces, you remind me of a fox, a beautiful young vixen and then with the twist of the wrist and the everlasting entrance of a key you are gone.