Pick up the phone and think. This time carefully.
A text would be easier, but a phone-call isn’t a big deal after a day of skirting around the city, the light etching the hard edges of it into memory.
Stories in mid stride, taking shape, making you whole. And that feeling, lingering and small, sticking more tightly than anything artificial. External.
Now there’s no sun outside the window.
Think. This time carefully and remember the voice and then go.
