A Knock At The Door

Well you didn't actually knock, you banged a bit. And through the glass I could see you were a tall person. Who could it be?

And I opened the door and there you stood, really, like a site for sore eyes! There really was a second of: pinch me, am I dreaming? Do my eyes deceive me? I had a sudden need to cry and hold you tight. I have missed you my friend! And then you sat down, like time never passed, and we began to talk about zeitgeist and art, about Melville, and London, about all the things that make me love you, and we did it in under fifteen minutes. Who else could?

You are my treasure for my heart.

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