Darkening water.

At the end of Westminster Bridge a piece of paper, once folded, has been blown open to reveal a note. It is written in haste in proper writing with a proper pen.

It teeters on its creased edge, totters in the breeze and is blown upwards.

In the air for a moment.

On the surface of the water for a moment.

And sinks.

At once ink is teased from the paper by the Thames, blackening the water by some incalculable fraction.

To the lady on the bus [at once the river lifts the words from the paper]

I saw you just now as you passed. Our eyes met. I don’t know how but I know you.

Somehow you [water permeates the paper] so you see I had to write this.

I’m leaving it for you so that [darkening water and ink combine] and I know you will too.

I’ve left it on Westminster Bridge because [entwined, blended, ink and water move as current]

I know you’ll find it. Please contact me.

My name is Daniel. My number is [tumbling in the current, the river saps the last of the ink and sets to work unmaking the paper]


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