RENAISSANCE

32. Tulips

Next to me, the bed was empty, Isaac's place cold, a sign that he had gotten up before me. The sound of water flowing in the shower reached me, discreetly, and then strangely reassured me.

I've never woken up next to him, and I don't think that will ever happen.

From what I had gathered about his personality, he was probably not the type to hang out in bed, and even less to curl up. No, he didn't like that sort of thing.

He was a morning person - or an insomniac - in a hurry, and did not want to dwell on this type of thing that was futile in his eyes. I knew it since the day we met.

I stared at the ceiling, while the first light of day slipped shyly through the curtains. Memories of the day before flashed through my mind, blurry images and mixed sensations of an evening that had taken an unexpected turn.

I still remembered his warm body against mine, his breath in the crook of my neck, his hands on my hips and his animal gaze. But I also remembered what happened next, and with silent decision, I pushed back the sheets and decided to get up, no longer wanting to dwell on these things that I so deeply wanted to forget.

I walked down the steps of the duplex, and into the kitchen bathed in morning light, I turned on the coffee machine, filling the air with the earthy scent.

With my steaming cup in my hands, I sat on the high chair at the central island, in front of this enormous picture window overlooking New York. This panorama is crazy.

Today the sun came out as if to say that spring had returned. And honestly, it felt good. The soft light, the colors that come back to life, it's like a new beginning. There were no longer these grayish, bluish or greenish colors. There were yellowish and orange tones in the atmosphere.

Captivated by this atmosphere, I got up and went to the fridge, filled thanks to the stove.

I wanted to try something.

A small smile appeared on my lips, pure satisfaction at seeing that there was jam, raspberry in here, even if I didn't care about the flavor. I then grabbed the pot and started looking for bread in the cupboards downstairs. It was strange to see them full, which had been so empty since my arrival.

Then finally, I managed to find a package of sliced bread, which I had difficulty opening. I hate people who seal bags so tightly.

Victory for me, I took out two slices. Without a toaster and too lazy to toast them in a pan, I was content to simply spread the butter then the jam. It was like rediscovering a forgotten pleasure, a simple gesture yet so meaningful to me.

Isaac's presence on my right caught my attention. He was coming down the steps, dressed in a white tank top and a gray tracksuit. This man is a model.

A cigarette dangled nonchalantly from his lips, completing the image of the guy who seemed to float above everyday worries, as if untouchable by the worries of the outside world.

This vision of him contrasted with what I had seen that night. I guess he quickly recovered from his emotions. It looked good on him.

Her still damp hair let a few drops of water run down her neck, indifferent to the effect it might have.

He quickly looked at what I was doing, and even though he didn't really let his emotions show and he didn't say anything to me, I saw that he seemed to be slightly surprised, positively I think. But he doesn't say anything to me, perhaps so as not to embarrass me or stop me in my tracks.

He made himself a coffee, then cup in hand, he walked around the island to sit where I was earlier, and observed the view in front of him, his back to me.