Love Story

When an April day suggests summer is coming, the aroma of expectation is often sweeter than the warmth at the season's height. I took full advantage of the beautiful day by staring at a database with Julie from accounts, unironically saying things like

that's the £7,000 we need to isolate

Julie would nod like a prick. So I left. There's no better place to escape the city than the square in the centre that badly masks grey with a patch of green. On the wall sat the centrepiece to this love story, like a lonely flower. I sat down at a distance too close for a stranger, but too far for a friend.

I was in love with you, you know.

She continued to stare at the ground, as I nervously ran my fingers between each other, not knowing where they should settle at a time like this. It had been around two years since I had last seen her. I nervously blurted noises like a donkey with stage fright.

I've seen how sad you are on twitter. I always thought we could have been sad together. Or we could be happy like you are on Instagram.

The tourists and pigeons that were everywhere weren't constrained by a lunch break. They ambled around, avoiding each other, aimlessly searching for food. I looked up, to hear what she had to say about my madness. But she wasn't there. Because she never was. And neither was I. Because I was on the way back to my desk.