Leonor’s room was pitch black
Not an inch in front of me
Could I realistically see
And when she blew out the candle
I tried, I really squinted in attempt
She held me, like she’d never hold me again
Her head resting into my head
Her left leg over my waist
My hands also embracing her
Pulling her in as not to let go
At least three moments, I remember,
She spoke to me in French
Her voice, so round
The words I could not repeat to clarify, maybe an ‘au’ and ‘bo’
These sounds were soft, embracing
My own translation, simply to adjust my body position, a nudge – encouragement.
‘whatever you need dear, darling, Leonor‘
And with each move of mine, she then held me once again, closer
In the morning, as her parents called to ensure she was awake (7am, daily),
her arms were still around me –
Under my neck and above my hip, meeting together around my chest
As I hear over the speaker ‘au trois’
I roll around to see her smile.
Her left hand returns to my side,
And her head falls back to the pillow.
For breakfast, we ate a seeded rye bread
With cherry preserves from her grandparents orchard
Accompanied with a full french press –
She tells me to let her know when to stop pouring – the volume of the cup I thought as reasonable
Then hers, halfway filled she dilutes with tap water
Afterwards she prepares for her day ahead –
at an office in the 15th before 9am
Her roommate talks to me as I do their dishes
Leonor and I catch the same train from her house
And as my stop comes forward, she grabs my hand
Her eyes looking into mine, a warm smile and sparkle
She’s wearing a black dad hat with text that reads
‘leaseplan’. ‘Nothing lasts forever’ I interpret to myself.
A reminder.
