Despite the clanking punches from the keys on my Caligraph typewriter, the droplets of rain hitting the window still interrupt my thoughts. Will they ever stop? It has been three days of rain and harsh winds. I am lonely and waiting patiently for news to arrive of my dear Sophie. I’m sure it is because of the rain that has been cause for her letter to arrive late … or arrive at all.
The last time I saw her, she was standing beside her suitcase on the platform of the train station. That final moment was too picture-perfect, staged almost. The steam of the train bellowed up from behind her and then hugged her into it until all I could see was her faint silhouette. She waved goodbye, or that is what I try to remember. The steam was thick and the sky was grey. Her bright red gloves were not even visible through that steam.
I remember when I bought her those gloves. Cherry red. Sophie’s colour. She can wear any colour and shine but there is something about that cherry red. When she wears it, no matter if it’s on her lips or her feet, hell even her lingerie, she carries herself differently, more confidently … no, more sensually, that makes even the heaviest traffic stop for her.
Oh my dearest Sophie. How I miss you. I miss the soft tendrils of your chocolate coloured hair. I miss caressing your face with the tips of my fingers, outlining your nose, check bones and your beautiful pouting lips. Those lips, as sweet as candy and as soft as flower petals.
I take a break from typing and smell the air. I’m thinking of you and wishing so badly that I could remember your scent. Instead all I can smell is the kerosene from this lantern and ink from my Caligraph. My heart is twisting, sinking, pounding and all I want is for it to be still. I have never known what it is like for my heart to beat outside my body until that day at the train station. The day you disappeared into the steam.
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