I can only make out the edge of that memory, but it was somewhere on the coast and it wasn’t warm. We’d been walking for so long we couldn’t see where we began and it felt pointless to go back. My feet where stinging with cold sand. Glass, I thought. This feels like crumbling glass.
Even as we walked, I watched him consider the damp chill and thick sweater he wore - I could feel him thinking - but he would not offer. He could not. It would be disingenuous to worry for me now.
He stopped and spoke, but not to me.
I’m really sorry.
Blue was in the water and on his tongue. When he spoke, his words fizzled like cheap candy.
I knew it was no good to be there, to listen. After all, there are only apologies when you come to the end. And as far as stories go, that was the end – the place the memory should die. But in another world, in another memory, I am still on that beach with him, and we are still lost along the coast, and we have no business going on, but we do. In another world, we loved each other the way I don’t remember but I often dream we did.
In another world, there are no apologies and no ends.