The Lake At The Centre Of My World - Expatlog

The Lake At The Centre Of My World - Expatlog

K pulls up to the office and gets out, moving behind the Jeep to open the boot and reach for the black rucksack he always uses for work. Jumping out soundlessly in my flip-flops, I pad round to join him, snatching a hungry look out at the lake as he outlines plans for the day I’m supposed to be listening to, hands stuffed in the too-small pockets of my jeans. I shadow him as he opens the passenger door to say goodbye to S, before finally turning to me and dispensing a kiss. I throw my arms around his neck and press myself against him – even the most routine and insignificant of goodbyes carry a sting for me. He returns the pressure and smiles, because he’s happy or because he knows what I’m like, I can’t tell. Then he bounds up the steps and is swallowed by inscrutable tinted glass and concrete. Above my head the Maple Leaf snaps and flutters, framed by cerulean blue. The hollow clink of hook and halyard on the metal flagpole brings me back to the moment and I turn my back on the building...

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