The day I met you, you were feeding the pigeons. It was a cold day, and your breath made a cloud around you, the kind of mystical image that comes to mind when describing a beautiful elf or similarly stunning being.

I saw your eyes piercing through the fog that your breath had made as you met my eyes.

I nearly dropped the coffee I was holding, but the autumn special, nutmeg and cinnamon, is two quid extra, a whole two pounds! I assume that’s why I didn’t drop it.

I’m there now, in my mind, watching your eyes find mine through the cold, the taste of nutmeg stuck to my tongue, and once again I’m cast out to the furthest reaches of the world, frozen in Antarctica as your eyes look away, and leave me lost in the fog of your breath, in the midst of the pigeons that scatter as you stand.

I remember the day I met you as if it was yesterday, I wish I didn’t.