to danielle : edinburgh

Since our Highland adventure, we were in Edinburgh proper, holed up in my high school best friend's apartment that he shares with his husband William. Late mornings of honey and butter drenched sourdough toasts, golden as the warm sun streaming through the kitchen windows. Wandering through the city, disappearing into its layers, textures, and hills. Evenings with Sky and William, playing board games and cards while consuming endless tea and biscuits. Waking up curled next to Quentin, still fast asleep, and pressing light kisses to his shoulder blades. Dashing around the kitchen, whipping up meals with Sky, feeding off his frantic energy. There's beer and whisky and haggis, rolling green hills and dark Gothic architecture, an insane ceilidh dance, all stomping swirling twirling with men in kilts.

There are the not-as-magical parts of course. The scary looking Euro based bank account as the stronger pound drains it. The too-sober, almost-bored silences between Quentin and I soaked with something that tastes like a strange cocktail of resentment and complacency. Wondering always always always what he’s is thinking. Feeling the French slip away from me just being away from Paris, feeling my communication with Quentin breaking down as this happens. Watching Sky and William's married bliss, acutely aware of how far we are from it. Knowing that it doesn't really matter.