By 8.45 the ferry has left the dock and we climbed the stairs to the upper decks. We leant over the rails and threw crisps to the gulls below, who smashed them, mid-air, with their beaks, and lost most of them to the steel grey sea.
By the time we reached France she had begun to speak to me again. That night we held each other in the soft dark of the motel room and were together, and were ourselves.
They don't tell you that half of love is just waiting.
21 August 2012
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