My Impeccable Collection
I'm in love. I didn't think it would happen. Everyone says I'm past it. Even I think I'm past it. And suddenly I'm in love. It feels like illness. Flushing and palpitations. But it's love. He only looks 12 (maybe 13). Not really. He looks twenty five, thirty? I don't know. He's got kind eyes. Brown. Lovely thick black hair. Glossy like a horse. And generous lips – quite pink for a man's. He loved my home: Detached, isolated, by the sea. He loved my library, my cooking, my roaring fire. He loved my impeccable taste in wine. He wanted to see my wine cellar. He'd always loved the idea of having a wine cellar perfect granite steps leading down, down, down. Like mine. And he loved the wine he saw before I locked him in. He didn't yell for long. Finally, he just looked at me through the little square window. His eyes were sad. He doesn't love me yet. But I think he knows he will.
9 February 2014