Our hands melded together as we lay atop that tartan rug with books unread by our sides about existentialism and days gone by, where people were tall and slender, lives perfectly formed; long fingers amidst tousled locks, wide eyed.
We didn't need a purpose. Everything we needed was right here. Our legs, illuminated; bits of ocean try to evaporate but act as cement for steadfast grains of sand. We shared some of the sea, filling the hollow between our pushed together knees. It would soon drain but, with time, the ocean will crawl to meet us, dampen our pretentious titles and refill our personal pond.
One day we'll buy a fish and it can live in our pond. It will have to be hardy and small and able to withstand the moments when his world is empty, fully in the knowledge that the tide will change and his life will be complete once more.
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