A frivolous lament

I miss her of course; not her maybe, but her presence – what foolishness, how could ‘her’ refer to anything but her presence. Let’s not get tangled in the semantics. I miss her. She was the only one in the office who could make me happy, who could get me motivated to want to go back after a most relaxing weekend. Every now and then, I would peer over my shoulders at her place and would see just the tip of her head above the monitor screen; probably buried in work my dear. Before leaving, she would always go out to smoke a cigarette – not that it would have deterred my affection for her in any way. Then at six forty-five sharp, she would look across and I would look back, and we would both leave together, furtively, so that no one else could discover our little secret world. We’d even walk pass each other without turning a glance. We did this because we knew with confidence that as soon as we were alone, everything would erupt in splendid colours.

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