I ate too much ice cream today. I left a woman at the side of a river that might be dangerous or might simply be a river - I haven't decided yet. She's kind of bewildered that I wrote her into shape, gave her a voice and gave her a dark silence, and then just walked away. I might go back. But I've also left a girl in an empty apartment getting shot by a man who loves her, and a girl in a bookshop listening to whales sing in the starlit harbour, and a woman walking a haunted island where she really shouldn't be. My shadow is littered with broken stories.
I had peaches with some of the ice cream but they were the cheap kind so it's not as nice as it sounds. The woman by the river has a magician for a lover but apart from his eyes I don't know much about him and I'm not sure how much there is to know. I haven't fallen in love with him yet; it worries me. The man who shot the girl in the apartment is not bad enough. There's a man at the docks listening to the whales, same as the bookshop girl, and the way he translates their old music, and her dusty silence, enchants me. The people in town suspect he's made from rain and moonlight. Who knows. And on the haunted island, holding the hand of the woman who shouldn't be there, is the same man pretty much as the one who shot the girl in the apartment. I need better heroes.
I found the bookshop one day a couple of weeks ago, although it was actually a coffee house; we sat outside and drank coffee and listened to the peace of old stone walls and trees. We told the woman behind the counter that she had the best shop in the city. She liked us. The island haunts me. I don't really think much about the river, it's just a thing to put my story beside. And the apartment keeps opening doors in my mind.
Is it time yet for tea?
Stupid question. It's always time for tea. And maybe another spoonful of ice cream.