Was it de’javu that each time I drove on the A12 to his, on this 3 ‘laned’ highway, I wondered if it was me he loved?
The traffic lights shone so brightly in red when we stopped, it made me wide eyed as I strained my pupils to look through the dark amid this misty, foggy residue on the windshield. And then my heart stopped for a second. Anticipation, yearn, separation!
The Uber-(ian) and I drove through the green, leafy area of the Woodford village. It was peaceful and quiet. It was a much desired relief coming from a bustling and noisy Marrakesh, through to a busy and packed North Terminal at Gatwick Airport. And with anticipation of my eyes besieging his handsome face, him standing there so tall by the door as he always does when I arrive. I walked in, jump on him because I had missed him incredibly so.
He holds me tightly into his firm, toned torso, alerting me he had being working out all week. I smiled because I figured! He kissed me and told me how long he waited on this Saturday for me to arrive from North Africa. It was 10 mins to midnight. I was hungry. He poached me some eggs on a roll. I had a gulp of fresh pressed apple juice.
He takes my luggage up and my trainers off. We turn off the lights and I walked into bed with him, wrapped in his warmth. This is love. This is home…