Sweet insomnia in cities where every open window faces the sea. A road leading to the beach. I smoke and watch the palm trees move in the wind. Christmas lights hanging across empty streets. Memories of the journey. A woman stares at me. Her face tinged with desire. Thirty seconds of silence. Both sides, loved and lost. I watched her every day for hours from the fifth floor. A statue. A garden of yellow flowers. The slow breath of a coffee pot. The intimacy of a telephone conversation and a very soft voice. A suitcase waiting by the door. Forgotten hotels. Tall buildings disappearing into the dusk. Someone switches off the light. I try to sleep while we look at each other. Fan blades turning in the darkness. A long narrow street and a tree at the end. Quarter to two. At the airport. It is raining. I wait beneath the fluorescent lights, convinced it will be the last kiss. One of the broken photographs is not mine. An unsent letter. A room left behind. The scent of rain on warm skin. Everyone waits for the arrival of the corpse. The sea continues its endless monologue.