You said the sea called out to you. That the water held magic and you had to be a part of that beauty. I didn’t want to seem like a schmuck. Dark clouds were filling in and I hated soggy shoes. I handed you my umbrella but forgot to look apologetic. You had the disappointed look down pat. “Let’s ride the waves today!” I’d again mistaken the sparkle in your eyes for another round of sex. I was in the heart of the storm, ignorant of the tumultuous churning.
It’s been a month since you’ve gone. Along with my umbrella.
M. S. writes flash and poetry.