The heat persisted into the night and clung to us mercilessly. We sat at the table, apart: knees apart, chairs apart, leaving space for an imagined breeze.
We drank the Pimm’s you had bought to remind me of home; the condensation mixed with our sweat to make everything wet, even before the rain.
You unbuttoned your shirt just as the storm broke. The air could no longer hold itself and we sunk into our chairs watching lighting bolts snap along the horizon.
This is how I remember you – staring onto the city with a glass slipping out of your hand.