We Will Always Have Girona

I thought of you today, and that funny way you had of sipping your drink which made me think of Girona in September. And, I seem to remember, we made a promise then that we would meet there again, no matter what the circumstance and if, purely by chance, we were still unattached, we'd share a kiss and reminisce about the years in between. Our separate lives, your husbands, my wives, and we'd laugh and wonder why the years had been so kind to us. And, in that little bistro caff we'd drink our coffee and laugh at the wrinkles and lines and our designs for each other now we were freed from the vows we gave to others. Free, at last to become one with each other and spend the rest of our days together, you and I, at last, forever. But the text changed all that, the one I received whilst I was sat in the coffee shop in Pimlico, where I know you used to go with a friend who was now sending me this tweet, saying the illness was short and she had to be very discrete. Only family attended, least said, soonest mended. And in an instant, like the coffee, Girona was gone. Our ill fated tryst, vanished like the mist that was pooling the pavement and, with it, it seems, the hopes and dreams of two star crossed lovers.