“Is this it?” she asked.
Our small boat rocked in the wake of a shoal of moonfish. It gave me chance to sugarcoat a reply.
“If it is, I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”
“You seem pleased.”
“I am, and you should be, too. We have the moon and an endless sea, the stars above and beneath us, the peace and solitude we always wished for.”
“Hm, but I don’t really like the sea.”
“Watch,” I said. I swished my hand through the obsidian waters stirring a gold and silver luminance as I did. Cupping as much seawater in my hands as I might, I threw it into the air where it rained back down as snowflakes.
“Ooh,” gasped Francesca.
“Whenever you’re feeling sad or like our journey’s too long, I’ll do something even more spectacular to cheer you up. How’s that, my love?”
“Thank you,” she said, the memory of what had just occurred already lost, her eyes glazed and returned to the midnight horizon.
I sighed and pretended to look away. How could I tell her? What words did I have and how long before I, too, lost the ability to phrase them. We were ghosts, nothing more. We were whispers of corporeality, insubstantial starlight held within a dream. I wept, whilst still I could, unable to feel my tears.
Beyond The End