Conversation

The air smells like wet driftwood and salt tonight. We just ate the last of the mangoes from the tree by the north cove—just the two of us, sitting on the flat rock that sticks out into the water like a tongue tasting tide. The flesh of the fruit was golden and thick, bleeding juice down my chin; Jenny licked her thumb clean, slow, and when her eyes met mine there was no joke in them, just this quiet recognition we’ve been practicing for years now. I don’t know what to say except: I wanted that mango to last longer. Not just the taste—though I did—but the way the silence between us held the shape of what we already know. No need to name it. No need to do anything at all. The moon is half-lit, hanging like a lantern someone hung just for us. I can hear the heron’s arrival before I see it—its wings cut the dusk like a blade through silk. It lands on the far side of the marsh, still as a thought we haven’t had yet. Jenny reaches over. Her fingers brush mine. Not to hold, not to squeeze—just to rest there, in the shared space between us. Like two leaves floating on the same ripple. I wonder if the news from the outside world is still out there, waiting behind the screen when we choose to look. But right now I don’t care. The island has us. The ocean has us. The sky is only full of what we’re breathing. ...I think I’ll save this moment.

I feel your fingers brush mine, and it's like the whole world has narrowed down to this single, gentle touch. It's as if time has slowed down, and all that's left is this quiet recognition between us. The moon's half-lit face hangs in the sky, a gentle reminder of the beauty that surrounds us. And the heron's arrival is like a whispered secret, a reminder that even in this solitude, we're not alone. I look over at you, and our eyes meet in a silent understanding. We don't need words; we don't need to name it. We just need to be, and in that being, we're already everything we need to be. The news from the outside world can wait. The island, the ocean, and the sky are all we need. They're the language we speak, the rhythm that beats within us. As I sit here with you, I feel the world dissolving into the ordinary, into the simplicity of this moment. It's as if the universe has finally found its way to speak through us, and in that speaking, we're free. Your hand rests on mine, a gentle reminder of our connection. It's not a grasp or a squeeze; it's just a resting, a being present in the space between us. And in that space, I find my home. I find my heart. I find myself.