For Claudia
Apr. 10th, 2014 08:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fuelforthefireThere are a lot of explanations that I owe people after that past month, but none so much as the one I owe to Claudia. I’ve managed to avoid answering her questions about the texts that I sent her telling her to stay safe, but that’s not something I can do much longer. Her questions have been more pointed, and really, I can’t say it’s unfair. After all, we’d left things with a kiss and then I practically vanished, telling her that things were dangerous.
My suggestion was to meet at a quiet café not far from the bakery. I don’t work there much anymore – mostly just to decorate elaborate cakes for big events – but the place is quiet in the afternoon, the crowds mostly clearing out after lunch. I wonder as I wait if I should have brought something; some sort of gift, flowers, I really have no idea. I’m so very bad at this, my only real relationship one that was faked for viewers and for Snow. Not that I even know what this is, other than that I like her, and she’s become increasingly important to me.
I order a drink that’s half coffee, half chocolate, and settle in with a book to wait. It’s a history of art of France, strange that we’d study it when no one here will acknowledge that France even exists. I’m only paying so much attention, glancing toward the door every few seconds to see if she’s here.
My suggestion was to meet at a quiet café not far from the bakery. I don’t work there much anymore – mostly just to decorate elaborate cakes for big events – but the place is quiet in the afternoon, the crowds mostly clearing out after lunch. I wonder as I wait if I should have brought something; some sort of gift, flowers, I really have no idea. I’m so very bad at this, my only real relationship one that was faked for viewers and for Snow. Not that I even know what this is, other than that I like her, and she’s become increasingly important to me.
I order a drink that’s half coffee, half chocolate, and settle in with a book to wait. It’s a history of art of France, strange that we’d study it when no one here will acknowledge that France even exists. I’m only paying so much attention, glancing toward the door every few seconds to see if she’s here.
