Moko moko;

The feeling of a loved one as she realizes that I am in her presence – the way she hops off her arm chair and scurries to me murmuring meows as she does so…”You are here! It is morning!” and she walks to her food bowl to take a few obligatory bites.

Maybe I am meant to only love those who have the temperament of cats, who cannot decide if they love me, when they want me, or whether they need me at all.

It’s been a tough week but bearable. Nearing the end of the weekend, and I am trying to finish a chapter on Long Lived Assets.

I am going to qualify after all! I am going to complete my training contract! Even though it is in October, it is but a mere dream away. Working under one of  the senior counsels I really admire, and ready to be immersed in civil litigation.

I have fond little memories to take with me this week – WS suddenly bursting into french rap, to my surprise – songs that play in my head of rivers and trains and a burning fire in a country house. It is my birthday week and I am determined to be happy, even in a snatch of time.

I finished the whole series of Harry Potter in a week! I never got to reading it in the past, and I started and finished. The best friend and I were happily chatting and owls and houseelves and werewolves that are teachers. He is attending an opera performance today, and I declared to him that I will dress up as a Veela and fly over and keep him company, and we will have half of the menu at The White Rabbit for lunch. 

There are so many things I want to do with Irving, I really don’t know what we will end up doing when we meet. What if we end up doing something frightfully simple which involves tea in a place where I totter in high heels over cobbled pavements? What if we relive the time of jazz and sorbet and snow on streetlights? What of running away mid-event, when you are all decked out in a suit and we end up suited and armoured for tiramisu in a kitchen?

The thought of life as an adventure often slips away from me, but with you in little moments it sometimes come back. Then I think of the smell of apples and sinister murders, these are some of what you bring to me.

And I will be hanging your ‘gothic pictures’ on my wall.


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