A balcony with ocean view. Beneath me I see the flower pots that I put there years before. The ceramic is cracking underneath the hot summer sun. You’re swimming in the pool, your entire body submerged. I see white reflections of the sun on the water’s surface. It is blinding, even though I am wearing my shades. There’s a solitary cloud in an otherwise blue sky. In the room behind the balcony, there’s our clothes, scattered throughout the room, two half-empty glasses, one with your lipstick on it, my tie is dangling from the edge of the bed. The alarm clock shows 11:19. I have a meeting at 12. You will be gone when I return, probably around 15:30. I will stand here again. The ocean. The pool. I. The sky. All blue.
Lest I forget to take my medication, you’ve put it on the kitchen counter, next to my cereal bowl. You bought the bowl as a housewarming gift. It’s japanese email, cracked, like the flower pots. You didn’t want to move in with me. You liked being a guest in my life too much. Being able to come and go as you please. At times adding to the decoration, at times showing your value through your absence. Yesterday you wore your lapis lazuli earrings with the golden setting. It was hot. Sweat ran down my forehead. You took the white handkerchief with the blue embroidered initials of my grandfather and you dabbed my forehead with it.
I eat olives and drink pastis. All rounded off with a bit of blue cheese. It’s now 17:24. I hear the doorbell ringing. The taxi is here. I quickly slip into my tuxedo. A blue pocket square. I watch the sunset through the tinted car windows as I am being driven to the opera. Puccini. You’re not here. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And yet… The shrill voices on the stage pierce my skin and shake my bones. Hues of blue and all but mellow tones.
It’s 23:11. I’m back home. The glasses from yesterday are still standing there, the only testament to mine not having been alone. I make the bed, I brush your hair off the pillow. I wish you were still sleeping there, just like yesterday, when I woke up at 6:43. I pressed some orange juice and made the mistake of drinking it having just brushed my teeth. The bitter taste filled my mouth and let vanish every last bit of your taste that still lingered on my lips from the day before. I looked at the sky, I looked at the ocean, I looked at the pool, then I looked at you. I looked in the mirror: all blue.