The Wine Balcony.

Sun. That is what I see of you, when I come to visit. Over the half empty bottles that flow around the table to top up glasses already half full, the sun of you – and the wine – shows on your friends’ cheeks. These are the friends you thought you’d never find because they actually understand you, and they make you laugh – all of which shows on your cheeks. 

I wonder if your face aches as much as your heart once did. It’s a memory now – an important one at that – and now you’re all giggles.

I could hear all of you from the street on the way up. And then I heard you: bursts of cackle I remember hearing years ago, the one that only came out after prodding, the one that hacks through closed lip smile. Giggly girl, I heard you on the stairs as soon as I buzzed. 

Your humble photos have kept me, and everyone back home, sane. To know you are safe, and to know you are still more beautiful than you let on. 

You’ve done justice to this place, it is as warm as you have described, though I suppose it’s summer. But it means something to me that it meant something to you to describe the heat, knowing your distaste for phone calls. 

Your voice deserves to be heard, for it is music even when you’re not singing. 

The lop-sided cobble under my soles hurried me along to stand in the cool dapple of your doorstep. And when you swung open the door, the first thing I did was apologise for not wearing the shoes in my hand. I couldn’t resist the surf on a day like this. 

And you tell me I haven’t changed, though we both know I have, but then you tell me – with only your smile – that I’m late, and I think that maybe I’ll always be predictable to you. 

The air is different, well, everything is and it suits you. I watch you breathe in a way that is easy. Shoes collect Love by this door; I pour sand out of mine before placing them in its pile. Upstairs is up a spiral staircase and it’s there that I see the entirety of you – such an extension of soul lives in the walls you decorated, and the furniture you chose. 

Lively clinks and murmurs remind me that I’m not your only guest, and we pass through beaded curtains hung between door frames. 

You’ve made it yours, even though I see his guitar in the corner, and her kindness in your whisper – red or white? Because they don’t know there’s white and you were saving it for me. Clever girl, I’ll forever thank you in hugs. How have you grown this much on your own? 

Through an arched entryway, I can see glimpses of your balcony – the balcony I’ve always imagined, drenched in sunlight. And as I follow you out, I pause for a moment, just to hear how loudly you are received. Just to see you out there, with a glow that was always meant for you. 

“Clever girl, I’ll forever thank you in hugs.”