Phantom of the summer

Falling through the narrow alleys of old Nice in the midst of the sharp daylight, we were here together a lifetime or more ago. Nothing has changed but the winds from the ocean are so violently intrusive now, they mercilessly pierce their way through my clothes and the skin like unused razor blades.

He puts his arm around my waist, low enough to feel what I'm wearing underneath my dress when he already knows. He bought them for me and told me to wear them with something sheer and black. "When will I meet your mother" I ask him as we seek cover from the warmth in the Cathédrale Saint-Réparate.

The questions lingers in the silence and the cold from the marble, his arm still around me but no longer as close. "I shouldn't have put it like that" he says under the cupola and it sounds just like a whisper.