I saw him again today. Third Sunday in a row. I know he noticed me. I felt the weight of his stare and the touch of his coat as he brushed past. I watched him move amongst the antiquities like a hunter, stealthy and alert. He shifted his gaze from shelf to shelf then shot his hand out towards a particularly expensive book. He looked around before opening it, turned his body to face the wall and bent his head to read. I was gratified to note that he had chosen a title I was more than familiar with. Same taste in literature. He could be the one.
He sighed, placed the book back and walked towards me. I held my breath, lowered my eyes and caught sight of his expensive shoes. Delighted by the shine, I dared to lift my gaze. He stood over me and opened up a conversation. I said nothing, too nervous to speak. I remained passive, did not move. He lowered himself to my level and whispered, ‘There you are. What a treasure. A rarity amongst all this tat. Far too good for this place.’
Such bliss to hear his voice and smell his herb-tinged cologne. Clean. I like that. Too much dust in here. A reminder of a period in my life when all I knew was darkness and the whiff of mildew.
I have a delicate skin.
It’s a rare condition that forced me to stay indoors. That’s how I found myself here, squeezed between the old and forgotten.
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