If you have no words you do not have me.
My message to the director tonight.
He wandered through Soho after his London Lunch and I felt every footstep.
Tuesday.
It is soon.
His words are overflowing. His admiration is smothering.
I miss the real.
I miss the love.
I miss the close and brief encounter.
I am still his Deneuve.
I am still his Bardot.
Still, I miss him.
I miss the possession of me.
