He loves caramel, but most of all he loves vanilla.
He doesn't like chocolate.
He doesn't like beer. He doesn't drink wine.
He drinks white martninis. I had never even seen one; my martini is a lemon drop, and everyone else I know likes them dirty, with olives.
He likes the way I'm always smiling.
He doesn't know it's because he's around.
I enquired, in a moment of lasciviousness, whether he plays Scrabble.
'No, what is that?'
I explained, it's a game, with letters, you make words....
'Ah! Scrar-bluh!'
We're playing today.
He says he doesn't know how to repay me for looking after him during his visit.
I don't know how to tell him that he repays me each day, that after so long frozen in the head, the heart, and everywhere else, he makes me thaw.
I can't tell him he makes me feel human again.
He says he will send macaroons from Laduree, as a thank you.
I'm not going to argue.
il est stupéfiant.
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