A Place Almost Two Years Old

Pale blue sky. Wispy clouds. Strawberry yoghurt. An empty dinner plate.
One of the lamps strung across the Mews moves in the evening breeze. Summery air, but its still laced with some kind of coolness, a thread of something slipped into a drink, a snake moving through a pool.
Last night sleeping at Em's last night (she moves tomorrow) and the flat is emptying, beginning to belong more and more to that feeling of abandonment. Voices echo. Footsteps, even on the carpetted floor, clatter. The bare walls are too white, and the thin blinds (instead of curtains) let the morning sun seep through as if they weren't there.
I lay there waiting for the alarm.
I remember this place, from almost two years ago now. I will help move her stuff tomorrow, and after the weekend the interior of that place will be lost to us all, another memory-geography, another past-landscape.
With Em in the Pavilion Gardens at lunchtime, cups of tea and watching the green of the trees shift. There was something I thought to write about now, but now I am here, I cannot remember it at all.