We are strolling through Portobello Market. I am holding his hand, fingers clasped, it fits and feels better than the last hand I held.
We amble for hours, browsing antiques and stalls, salivating at the sights and smells of local produce.
Everyone is dressed in vintage clothing, eclectic styles and a sea of bright colours.
I spot a girl in red shoes and purple tights. Her shoes are gorgeous, she is beautiful.
I wish I had put something else on this morning, something bright instead of my jeans and big winter coat.
We pass a music stall, Dinah Washington sings about being Mad about a Boy. He laughs and finds it funny.
We stop and he pulls me to him and kisses me.
He tells me he loves me.
I don't know what to say back.
He smiles the warmest smile and strokes my fringe off my face.
He tells me that I mean the world to him.
I feel warm inside, I feel loved.
I can't find the words. I want to say it but I can't. I want to say that I love him too, that he gives me something that I have never had. But I am scared of giving again, trusting again. I am not sure I even trust my own feelings, so for now I give him what I can, a smile and tender loving kiss.
We are still stood with our arms around each other in the middle of the market, slightly swaying the music; the song has changed and he sings to me. He continues to sing as we head back through the vibrancy, hands still clasped, locked in a moment.