The Perfect Date

While I’m not usually one for fiction, I’m going to ask that you indulge me for a moment here. I might not spend so much time reading fiction, but I certainly am guilty as charged for writing it. In my head, of course. I figured I’d share a little of that here with you, should you care to read.

While drinking coffee in bed one spring morning (the only spring morning we’ve had so far this year in England I should add), my thoughts took over. Instead of being present in my own bed, I was transported somewhere else. It was a lazy spring morning in Paris, with the window cracked just slightly in the Ritz. A gentle breeze crept in, and a man I adore was standing by it. “I took the liberty of ordering you coffee” he said, knowingly smiling. Knowing that two things are the best way to wake me from my sleepiness so early: caffeine, and a handsome man.

We share in bed while the sun filters through the window, before rolling out of that bed and into a park for a stroll. We let the day take us wherever it wants. Museums, galleries, undiscovered little street with quaint local cafes tucked away in secrecy. The bright fresh air and the crisp breeze being the perfect catalyst to press our bodies close together as we stroll through Parisian parks. The quintessential vision of romance, actualised.

Dinner is enjoyed over candlelight, to the sounds of a lone guitarist performing in the corner of the little restaurant. The realisation that the night has to end at some point is incomprehensible to us both. We stretch the boundaries of time to its limit - a bath on return to our room, playing each other our favourite records and talking about them til the morning hours. Maybe one or two other things to take up the time, but a lady never kisses and tells...

We sleep eventually, and wake unsure as to who fell first. Knowing it was likely me, we laugh until our faces hurt. Whilst laughing in each others arms, there is a palpable sadness that this moment is one of our last together. Until next time. My train home in 2.5 hours, and his onto his next work commitment in 4. I reach over to call for coffee and croissants. And as I do so he says “Hey. How do you feel about Rome today?” I knowingly smile back at him, and words would be completely redundant in such a moment. We both just know.