We missed the ferry. We watched as it sailed away from the slip. The next wouldn’t come for another hour, but it was a beautiful evening in the Pacific Northwest. The temperature was just right: a cool 65. The sun was setting over the bay reflecting orange and gold in the water as the tide gently rolled in. A house along the shore was throwing a party. Their lighting twinkled in the summer evening and the music- old school southern rock- drifted down the shoreline to where we were- leaning against the guardrail of the causeway. You held me against you and we joked about how perfect the moment was, just like a movie. We remember a similar moment 2-years earlier along a different beach on Labor Day weekend. We were walking along the shore at sunset, I was holding my shoes in one hand as the water-hard sand broke apart under my feet. The waves were singing against the shore and you chose that moment to tell me about a new girl in your life. We recount that story and laugh. We weren’t together then, not like we are now. We are re-writing that beach scene with a new one. Not erasing the past, but refocusing it, like how the imperfect moment at the beginning of a romantic comedy is re-enacted to perfection at the end. Then, you pick me up and joke about throwing me into the water. I scream and laugh. There are cars lining up to wait for the ferry; the passengers watch us. We don’t mind.
Published by Bringing.Mae.Flowers
I'm a 20-something woman living, learning, and writing in the Rockies. Far from being an inspiration, I have started to look for inspiration in everything I do. From mental health to writing, mindfulness to dating: I hope my blog can bring some light and insight someone, even if that someone is just me. View all posts by Bringing.Mae.Flowers