The nondescriptness of that moment
was what stayed in my memory after we parted,
that nothing had been special enough to have a name:
no clue what colour the furniture was,
what those locals named the food we ate,
how long it was that you and I sat there
on some windy terrace, facing the North Sea.
Nothing happened. Clouds appeared to fade.
But as time went by, pieces fell into place.
I remembered the name of the colour:
mauve. And it came with the memory
of your whisper. The smell of tar,
the lines near your eyes.
My reply. The best moment ever.
Let me describe it like this.


Comments on: "Nondescript" (6)

  1. This is terrific,

    Those moments when nothing happened yet everything did.



  2. This is just fqbulous! I have experienced this; maybe we all have, but you have a way of conveying it that I could never do.

    L&H xx

  3. Strange how the blur can become such a distinct memory. Perhaps what inspiration is made of … XO

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