Headland

We have held the shapes of our lonely days in our hands for far too long, and now we walk away together from all the things we need to leave behind.

Those memories of all the lonely days tumble around you as we walk away from our pasts, and there seems no route you can trace on all the maps of your few small remaining dreams that will take you to anywhere but here and now.

The path winds slowly across the very edge of these cliffs, leaving the sea murmuring to itself far below. Up here, the cries of the gulls are louder as they wheel into the sky.

The beach below is crowded under the sun, the breeze occasionally throwing the sounds of holiday at us. But we are alone up here and you have that look that knows it. We both know what will happen next, even as your clothes pool all around us.

Sometimes it is the simple things that matter. A gesture, a word, can sometimes be enough. Sometimes it is the complicated things that can only get close, and - it seems - almost touch that vague nebulous mass of possibility that seems to lie just out of reach. Something you can almost trace with stretched–out tips of your fingers in the air around it. Sometimes, only silence matters. Sometimes it seems as though there is no other sound but silence.

Sometimes there is only one thing to do, take the moment by the hand, lead it to a place like this, and seal that silence with a kiss.