I went to make some tea for myself. As I waited patiently for the water to boil, I happened to peer from the window of my livingroom, onto the streets below. The scene unfolding beneath me turned my lips upward into a smile.
A couple. A man in a grey wool coat. A woman in a dowdy green jacket. He carried a singular piece of luggage with him. He looked at his watch. The face was large and chromed - it's nearly 5 o'clock.
He kissed her lightly on the cheeks, on the forehead, on the tops of her naked hands. He looked at his watch. He grabbed the strap of his luggage, lifting it inches from the ground and set it down again. She kissed him on the mouth.
Voyeuristically tranced, I stood in the window. Romantic perversion. He looked at his watch. She laughed, he pushed her tenderly away and then grabbed her around the waist. She wrapped her arms around the tops of his shoulders. They kissed. Passionately, with both eyes closed. They hugged. Breathed deeply - the both of them. They kissed again, delicately, softly.
They stepped apart from one another, trailing their hands until the tips of their fingers barely touched, until they did not touch at all. He turned on his heels, and walked - she did the same.
I surveyed as he descended the steps into the Métro entrance. He looked at his watch. I looked back at her, the lamentable gap between them was widening. Excitedly I thought to myself, 'Is she going to look back? Is she going to look back?'
About ten paces into her stride, she nervously turned her head around and glanced for but a moment. She lowered her eyes to the pavement and continued forward. I smiled.
He never looked back.
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