Cheese Fondue.

She waits for him when it rains. She is convinced he will come. When he does, they can sit on her bed and play scrabble. Or watch a movie or something. She likes scrabble. She has her rules though. She doesn't like it with everyone.

One day, they sat on the sidewalk behind some parked cars. They couldn't decide on the evening plan. They sat there and had a fairly mundane conversation. She remembers that day though. How can she not? That day they had gone to a bookstore. She likes bookstores. She likes them more on some days than on others.

She isn't a child; but she is fascinated by the bright blue toy on the beach. The one which flies. The sea breeze is pretentious. The conversation isn't. Some conversations sound fake with some people. She likes conversations. The ones that come with no agenda. You'd think those are easy. They aren't. Some people, of course, are pretty good at them.

She picks out her olives and places them on her plate. The pizza is cold. The coke is flat. She throws her head back and laughs. Food makes her happy. Some nights, she sneaks a bar of chocolate into bed. Most nights, it's her phone that she sneaks in.

The coffee never was a big thing. New years wasn't either. January pretends to be cold. She puts on a big sweatshirt. It smells of hay and happiness. The coffee has a cream heart on it. She doesn't like hearts. As a kid, she thought that's how the human heart looks. She was relieved when she found out otherwise. She wonders how she feels warm even after she takes off her sweatshirt. Hugs, in ineffable situations, have a charm of their own.

She never was the best at making clues. She liked playing the games, even though she lost most of the times. She has her rules though. She doesn't like losing to everyone.



Does sharing your name with his first name make you his namesake?
"Candles red I have a pair
Shadows dancing everywhere
Burning on the angry chair"

For the namesake of the lyricist.
For the clues and the sweatshirt.