Your scent still lingers on the sea foam sheets, amongst the scattered rose petals and off-white pillow. If I close my eyes and lean back, I can still remember every detail of last night.
I check the Cartier gold watch you gave me as a second anniversary present. I still have an hour before check-out time.
After picking up lacy underwear flung across the floor, I fish out the last of the champagne from the mini fridge. Before shutting the suite door, I find your tie you left slung on an armchair. I’m still holding onto it, as I walk out of the sliding glass doors.
“Come again soon, Mrs Smith,” the porter smiles and waves at my alter-ego.
I drop your tie at your office, as tears dribble from my eyes. I love you so much, and you say you feel the same. Yet I’m still not allowed in your house. I still have to hide in the shadows. And you still embrace me, and whisper “soon, not now,” in my ear.
I will continue to be Mrs Smith. We belong together, and we both know it. But when will your wife?