in my dreams we are together. moonlight rippling along with the waves. it is a full moon, shiny and bright like a frisbee disc. egg yolk in the sky. and we are sitting next to each other, at the place where the sea meets the shore.
“isn't it just sad that real life will never live up to stories?” you ask. it is quiet. the occasional hooting and the slightest sounds of crickets in the thicket behind us ruffle the cold blanket of darkness that spreads out over all of existence. in the far distance, harbourfront's lights glitter like tiny gemstones embedded in the canvas of the night. i can feel the sand between my toes and smell the salty tang of fresh sea air. the lamplights are on, little pockets of trapped illuminscence hanging around the periphery of my vision, but my view is filled with you.
“it's only sad if you let it make you feel sad,” i roll over and stare into yours. you give me a slight smile. this is nice.
“did you know that the way you write ronin is 浪人, with the character for wave and the character for person, which is pretty much how I feel, like a little wave person, floating around on the stormy sea of life.”
“and where'd you get that one from?” you murmur, leaning against my shoulders. the waves wash against our bare feet, taking our weariness away with it as it recedes back into blackness.
the gears are clicking into place. a glitch in the matrix, perhaps, but i can hear them. your quiet sigh and reassuring warmth lulls me half asleep. and maybe it is the bottle of jack daniels that we had after dinner. maybe it is the way the waves lick at the hem of our picnic mat. maybe it is your eyes, how bright they seemed to glimmer even after all this time. but i know right here and now that i am still in love with you. i lean in, and so do you.
it was a withering kiss, and as our lips touched, i heard the gears grind to a stop for just the slightest of a second. one singular, perfect moment. and then it was gone.
after a long while, you finally open your eyes. you wistfully caress my face as we savoured the last of the lingering night.
“how wonderful it would have been if you had chosen us, don't you think?”