caroline juillard

I went home and she was out. Her scent lingered in the air. Her half finished coffee cup on the table as usual. Books scattered around the bed. A cosy mess. I sit at the table, finish her coffee gone cold and lazily watch the light fade through the orange curtain. It's dark now. I know that on her way home, looking up from the street, she will smile at finding the lights on. The bed is empty but full of promises.

Workshop with Duane Michals - The feeling of love