It’s one in the morning, I’ll sit with my head in my hands replaying every word you’ve ever said. And you probably won’t remember, but I feel that I’ve only just scratched the surface of your skin. I feel like the sea, calm on the surface but a whirlwind underneath. I still remember the way your hands felt wrapped around my back. And the way your legs were intertwined with mine as if to calm my heartbeat that went so much faster than yours. I can still smell you on my pillow, and you still linger in my head. A stoic statue of a man who for 20 hours gave me a glimpse into the private showing of the film he created. And you’re right, for as many times as I’ve watched the day come and go I have no idea who you are when the sun comes up.