We spent most of our summers down at the Point. Warm evenings drinking even warmer beer. Damp, misty mornings filled with laughter, and occasionally regret. The slow walk home a time to discuss grand plans for the future. Our parents no longer needed or expected excuses: they knew we were growing up; they knew we wanted to be together.
Today I watch alone as a flaming red sun sets over the Point. The crashing waves, the passing years – they may weather and decay our buildings, age our skin, take our loved ones; however, they’ll never have our deepest memories – those remain with us until one day we are together again.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.