Epilogue: No more clichés
My blouse is on the chair, my work trousers forgotten by the bathroom door…and I'm curled up on the sofa in my favourite fluffy dressing gown, my head leaning against Jess' chest as he plays with my hair.
It's been two years since he turned up at my apartment door and spilt coffee all over my floor. Nothing much has changed since then, except less coffee is spilt. We're still together. We're happy. Happy? Doesn't really do it justice. Ecstatic? Nah. Elated? Nope. Blissful? Maybe. Perfect? Oh yeah, perfect is exactly the right word.
He's sighing and my head bobs up and down on his chest in sync with his breathing. I stare at my left hand, and the tiny blue diamond sparkling on its ring finger. Blue to match my eyes, was his reasoning. Yet another reason for me to love him.
Neither of us say anything. The room is so quiet, only the sounds of our intermittent breathing and Jess' light humming. Ah, but which Clash song? Guns of Brixton. I feel content in the silence.
I promised myself a long time ago that there would be no more clichés but somehow I'm reminded of that little phrase; silence is golden. Silence is what it is-silent. It has no colour, no taste, no smell and above all, no sound. Silence is golden? Yeah.
Right now, I could believe that.