Sat there in an awkward pose
in a pub,
bulging calves,
resting on bare knee,
a fellow reader with no book.

Stood waiting for an early morning bus on Tues 27th, opposite some weird futuristic Hilton Hotel. A vision of you, the very first you comes to me. I feel the burning need to talk to you, to hear you, but equally not. As the ball is in you court. As I cannot call my back-up help, having been too busy annoying her like hell and every other unwilling participant in my phone book. I write. 

Taken from a text I sent myself, scheduled to make up the time I will no doubt lose in these busy days