I should be working, but my mind keeps wandering off on trips we’ve been taking together.
We drive by that spot quite often lately. And every time we do, I notice the two wooden chairs on the shore of the lake, facing west and waiting for the sunsets that always return.
I noticed them again last time, and when I opened my mouth to say something, you told me how much you like them.
I smiled. Probably even bigger on the inside.
Then I went back to thinking about how beautiful you looked. Or back to listening to the podcast about space.
Or to thinking about how beautiful you look while you’re listening to a podcast about space.
To be honest, I’m not entirely sure where that spot is. Irish Cove? Irish Vale? Ben Eoin? Narnia?
But those chairs are exactly where they belong. If that view was a painting, they would have been created by the very first brush strokes, while all the rest would have been painted in orbit around them.
I’ve spent time thinking about the people who put them there. I prefer to imagine them as older folks. The cute kind who are still as in love now as they were thirty years ago. Maybe they worked in some city, and spent nights on a tiny and noisy deck, dreaming about some day sitting beside the beautiful Bras D’Or Lakes.
I’m smiling now thinking about how they made it.
Perhaps they sit there, discussing now-grown children, long ago memories that they can almost reach out and touch, or their next big adventures.
As night falls, he takes her hands in his own, to warm them before she even realizes that they’re getting a little chilly.
We’ll have our seaside spot.
Waves will lap. Suns will set.
You’ll sip wine and think about a gift you want to buy me.
I’ll pull out my notepad and jot, “Moments can’t be stolen when they’re so freely given” without being sure exactly what it means, but knowing it is about you.
I’ve seen some locations that might actually be perfect, but I really don’t care where it is.
As long as you’re there, I’ll be there.
Everything else will just find its place in our orbit too.