Look

The bookstore, our bookstore, where we drank endless coffees and lost each other amongst the aisles. The bookstore where they played our song, and then we realised it wasn't. Go there, our there, to that place in the corner where I kissed you with your back to the wall, to the fourth bookshelf on the right, fiction, G, look under Gavalda, the blue book, our book, your book, it's there, an envelope, that's all, an envelope slipped in between two copies of our book, those books, mates, partners, side by side, lovers? no too far, just books, two slim volumes, like people, like us, like we were, like when we were us. Perhaps someone will get there first, someone will read the words I left for you, someone will take the envelope meaning to read the words for themselves, forget, throw it out with their trash and chewed chewing gum sticks. Those words will be discarded, incinerated, forever unread, the black ink peeling off crisp burning paper, words melting in all-consuming, drowning waste. So go, fast, faster, before this befalls, and find me, find us.