There’s something about this place that is so familiar. I breathe it in and something about – you – is hinged in these musty smells. Incense drifts around my head in gossamer strands of grey-green smoke and a flash. Of a memory. Buried deep. Resurface. I flinch in pain.

Not a physical pain. Something in the heart of my mind. A soul-pain. A wretched love-lost-pain. A tear-your-guts-out-and-set-them-alight-kind of agony. And here in a room full of incense and orange I fall. So surrounded am I by you.

And you – break me.