[The sky is shattered into a thousand hues. The clouds fade. The Sun is like blood. The hot, sticky air stands still. Cicadas sing and the world seems, for a moment, young again.]

“I was wondering when you’d find me.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“It always ends the same.”

“I am here to say —”

“Stop it. Listen to the waves.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. Sit. For old times’ sake.”

“…”

[There was a time once. Maybe it was yesterday, maybe it was a thousand years ago, but there was a time when the white concrete of the roof felt cold to the skin and the gentle breeze provided comfort. The darkness would part, the sky would be broken into pink. Pink is not a good enough word. No words are good enough to describe the roof in the crowded neighborhood with no green where you can watch the sky bleed. There was a time when time did not move.] 

“I suppose I have a moment.” 

“Don’t look at me. Do you see the way they roll back and forth? Do you hear the seagulls?”

“I’ve seen this a thousand times.”

“See it once more. The train will not take you back here.”

“I know.”

[The sun looked as innocent as a penny, sinking into the water, which was black as wine.]

There is a silence. It lasts for an uncountable time. The sky is irreversibly broken. You, who watch it bleed into black: why do you remain here?

“Most don’t see a sight like this in their lives.”

“And we’ve seen it twice.”

The border of everything.

“Yet I never became a sailor.”

“And I never became a poet.”

“We’re both failures.”

(laughter)

“You are going to miss your train. What did you come here to say?”

“Nothing.”

“How dare you try to lie to my face. I thought you knew me.”

“I don’t know what I came here to say. I miss you, but these Sundays in summer aren’t the way they used to be. I have tried over and over to go back, but all I see is my reflection, bleeding, staring back at me. There was a time once, but it is dead now. And you, my old friend…”

“Yes?”

“You are the cut that never heals.”

“Lovely.”

“I mean that in the best way possible. I hope that this is not the last echo.”

“For your sake, it should be. I miss the fireflies, you know.”

“As do I.”

“Don’t miss your train.” 

“I won’t.”