Sunlight through the leaves and that perfect Parisian cafe vibe – feeling like this every day when it’s our own little slice of heaven. A little bit cozy, a whole lot of magic. Coffee cup in hand (and...

Here’s the Monologue:

“The light was good tonight, wasn’t it? Not blindingly so, not yet anyway. Just…muted. Like everything feels these days. See those rings on your finger? They haven’t been quite silvered over since then, though. Not much silvering. We used to notice it more, didn't we? The way the dust motes danced when he left for work – always assumed it would be a grander dance without him, of course.”

She takes a small sip of wine, the ice tinkling softly against the glass. “It hasn’t felt like that long, has it? Five years. Might even say six, if we don’t count the Christmas after." A subtle shift in posture - the angle of the knee, the curve of the lip. "Your coat looks warmer than ours did last time you were here. Always did like the wool, that particular tweed. Felt secure in it, didn’! ”

A little wrinkle around the eye as she glances down at her hands – which are perfectly poised, fingers relaxed, but not entirely unaware. “Don’t think about the mess, not consciously. It's easy to do, isn’t it? Let things drift. Mostly quiet, aren't we?”

She turns back towards you, ever so gently. That half-smile returns, hesitant, hopeful. “Just wondering why you agreed to come all the way out here. Thought you might have preferred the city, perhaps. Less…roomy. More familiar, certainly. Still, nice to see you. Didn’t realize it had been so long until just now, really. Now then…” Another sip of wine, a tilt of the head. “What were you thinking, all these years?”

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