When we kiss bears and boulders vibrate through the air.

She's always found it difficult to talk about herself in a way that leaves her in any vague of state of vulnerability, so the mere idea of pouring herself out in unforgivably clear view, admitting it all, allowing everyone to see and judge every little tenderly imperfect thing about her was a risk she found it impossibly hard to make.

And yet, somehow, she did it.

She did it. 

She did it.

She did it.

They sat talking for hours in the cold,cold place that smelt like dusty books, bicycles and french bakeries, the unyielding sound of construction machinery raging on and on behind them as if the world hadn't in fact just changed completely, even though it had. And all the other lonely people for whom the cold place held some form of nostalgia or comfort or just a way to pass the time stood in the same places they always had.

Just talking, 

whispering,

talking,

looking at the books that even then they knew they probably wouldn't buy,

talking.

A cup of tea went cold on the bench beside us.