She stares into the sea. She spots a speck and hopes it’s him. They shake their heads and walk by. She’s been here for ten years now.
“I luff you,” she said. “I lubv you,” she said. “I luuh ooh,” she said. Bobby scowled and wrung the manual. Nothing was made to last.
Balanced on one knee with the winter ocean far below him, he looked up at her, unafraid. He trusted that she wouldn’t let him fall.
Rolling in the long grass, sipping sweet spirits, holding hands in the sun, kissing in the humid downpour. But that was last summer.
She waited for him to take her hand for the first time. He nervously fidgeted with his Smarties box instead. She knew then it would be love.
When will she stop the absurd fanfare-the steak he loved, this dress? She poured a splash of pinot anyway and touched the glass to his urn.