Certain memories knock at our door in a different language.

I am sitting in the office, when a gentle breeze blowing through the window lights up an unexpected memory.

I remember the seagulls.

The seagulls screaming in the tiny bay and me sitting there on the river bank, waiting for you.
I saw you at a certain point, you were walking towards me holding two take-away coffees. The sky was grey, the air was fresh. It was windy. We fed the seagulls.

I only have  fragmented memories of those days, I don’t even know why on earth they decided to come back today. Maybe it’s the color of the sky: same shade of grey, mixed with the fresh air that precedes the rain and its unique scent.

I remember a long breakfast. We both ate eggs and baked beans, almost in silence. We were sitting next to a big window facing the road. Memories now fade on the sides, I only see my plate, a cup of tea next to it and your hands.

Inside I still have this kind of cold feeling that it is going to rain.


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