#77

And all at once his heart thaws and he is hit with a wave of tenderness like someone poured warm jelly in his bones and he wishes she were with him, right next to him, staring out at the same shimmering water, watching a ferry, loaded with people, arriving at port, buzzing with anticipation and comings and goings. In that moment he can feel her presence and it is silent and comforting. In his mind’s eye he visits the texture of her skin, the weight of her breasts, the way her face looks as a showerhead rains upon it, eyes closed, lips together, head tilted up, her laughter, her contours, traced with fingers, hands, glances, the wetness between her legs, the love in her eyes, the way she wriggles into him to get closer at night, the timbre of her I love yous. He thinks about all this, and she is there and then she is gone. And he is alone, as he was before and he is again. And all he can think is, my god, this is an awful waste of good love.