The end of year is a time to reflect, a time to remember The Year That Was.
This year especially so.
So many memories, but one I remember most. Not of Covid, lockdowns, or masks. Not of bushfires or smoke.
One of you. And me. Lying on your outdoor lounge, gazing out to sea.
My last visit.
Sometimes we spoke. About books, my writing, our families, your impending departure.
Mostly we didn’t.
Calm. Pure. Silent. Nothing between us. The sea stretching out in front.
Time to let you rest.
As I walked away, I turned and blew you a kiss. Gave you my best smile.
You gave a half-crooked smile in return. Your usual.
I saw it in your eyes, but chose to lie to myself instead: I’ll see you again. We’ll lie on your lounge, we’ll gaze out to sea.
But we didn’t.
It was always going to be too soon.
This year leaves me with many memories.
This is one.