Morning quick-jerk bus lurch and she gripping metal cold rail, thought running slip-slide down again to him him him, white shirt sleeves shove up elbow maybe or grey jumper itch at the neck, coffee steam cloud on lip—he’d puff puff, too hot always, secret breath quick hush—see it smell it taste it, gone now, nothing on the screen blank dumb light dead stone, why not him answering, why silence, why?

Thursday bakery maybe, crooked wood sign, nine past ten rye loaf he buys, she could cross by, heel click pavement, oh hello there what a chance—never, never only faces blur umbrellas turn inside-out rain slant collar trickle wet, him not there, never him. Desk maybe neat square papers, finger tap tap not her, name gone untyped, her gone.

Too much she said? too plain love shown open raw wound shining, maybe fright, maybe dullness—what was it, what? Café window steam smear, inside heads bent spoon clink not him not him only her looking.

Map in her head tracing his feet, train time 7:52, lunch 12:15, steps across street red light green flash, never crossing hers, lines lines lines that run beside and never touch, cruel joke it is. Nail bite palm press hard sting—yes here I am, flesh still here, heart beat still tick-tick, waiting waiting for crack in silence stone wall never break, never.

Him? Was it him? The corner, the night market, the coat — no, fog, fog swallowing, swallowing everything, the mist curling, curling like memory, like smoke from a cigarette I never smoked there, never. Years. Years away. Oceans folding, folding under, under the moon, the moon like a watchful eye, is he looking? Would he? Did he ever? Did I?

I stop. No, walk. Walk faster, slower, too slow, too fast, the street moves, they move, everyone moves, everyone except me, except the maybe, the maybe of him, the maybe of us, did we? Could we? Should we? Call out? Laugh? Pretend? Pretend we don’t remember each other? No, he remembers. Or not. Or does he? Perhaps he never even — no, no, stop.

The rain, the rain that never fell that day, dripping, wet, soaking the coat I didn’t wear, the scarf that was never his. Heart, yes heart, slippery, twisting, twisting like the river in the letters I never sent, letters folded, unfolded, folded again, unread. Tea, cold, trembling hand, trembling thought. Did he think of me? Or not? Was I ever a thought? A maybe? A shape in the fog, the mist, the gaslight, the mist curling, curling, curling.

I see him. Or not. The face — was it? No, just shadow, just shadow playing, playing tricks, maybe. He doesn’t know, doesn’t see, doesn’t care? Or cares too much? Or cares too little? Why didn’t he come? Did he think I wouldn’t be here? Did I think I would be? Did we both think, think, think and forget? Or forget too soon?

The street moves on, they move on, they breathe, they laugh, they exist. I — pause. Breathe. Hesitate. Maybe. Maybe not. Memory, memory, memory folds into memory. Smell of wool, wet hair, that laugh, that smile, the way he looked — or not. Did he look? Did I look? I did, I did, and yet — gone, gone, gone, swallowed by fog, by mist, by maybe.

Tomorrow? Maybe. Never? Perhaps. Love? Always maybe, always shadow, always hesitation, never certainty. Always the corner, the shop, the street, the fog curling, curling, curling, me, me, me, question mark, question mark, heart clenching, twisting, slippery, slippery, slippery.