A square of gold on crumpled white linen. A warm left knee catching the first few days of March sunshine. A sky clean as kitchen walls, and air the colour of breakfast, if breakfast has a colour at all.
I look at my palm for maybe fifteen minutes. The criss-cross of the future etched on pink flesh. The world is in your hands, the future of the world is entre nos mains, who knows.
Do you remember that bit in Before Sunrise when Julie Delpy gets her palm read in some Viennese square? I don’t know why I’m bringing it up because I’ve never seen the whole of Before Sunrise and I think I got tired of its pacing, but the shots are singularly quite beautiful.
I’m living my life now like it’s a series of shots in a very boring but very beautiful film.
The sun splintered between two chimney pots spotted across the courtyard.
A baby blue bike leaning against one of the yellow walls in the middle of the courtyard below.
A couple passing fitfully behind their windows as evening draws itself up to us like the tide coming in. They’re like fish in an aquarium, or penguins, or maybe sharks. I can’t tell, though they move with such flitting grace It’s like they’re under water.
Me with my eyes shut, framed in a square of gold upon the wall.
My flat mate dancing to some tune on french radio.
A radio 2 jingle drifting up from a nearby flat – so there must be other English people nearby.
Snippets of conversation had between neighbouring windows, a small child saying j’aimerais que tu sois chez nous which means I wish you were here before he runs around screaming with what I think are brothers and then shouts quack quack out the window to which I reply quack quack and he then gets told off by his mother and I think I might be in trouble too.
My feet in the air either side of the window. Lying on the ground to get a better view.
Watching the sunshine bounce off the other side of the courtyard in its rosy splendour before sinking out of sight entirely.
And an empty coffee mug in partial shadow.