You are both nothing and everything like I expected you to be.
There are the things that I would always notice. You are thinner than I am. Taller. Suddenly the surprise that I should have to stand on tip toe makes sense. There are the other things I notice, things in my favour, that my breasts are bigger, that - thankfully - I am better dressed.
But it is not the differences that fascinate - and horrify - me. You are pale, a shade on the Dulex transparent sheet. As you sit, cross legged, reading your dark hair falls around your face. It is painful to see you sitting almost in the same spot as I had done merely 24 hours earlier.
If there is any remaining doubt over your identity it is confirmed when I pass and his eyes do not meet mine. For a brief moment, we are all in the same space, trapped, the Abbey as our backdrop. I avert my gaze, refuse to listen.
I do not want to hear your voice. It will make you too real.
Later, when you have gone, it is almost as if you had never been. I do not intend to speak to him but as I walk his voice compels. I have the aching feeling that this is some test that I have passed, as much for me as for him.
I do not feel guilt. It surprises me. But I do feel sorry for you. I wonder how much you know. I am not arrogant enough to suspect that there has only ever been me.
There is something else, mingled around the bottom of my stomach, the feelings that end up around my knees the moment I alight on those eyes.
I dislike you for one simple, unforgivable, fact.
You met him first.