We will have potatoes on Sunday, peeled, cut, and roasted with salt and pepper, rosemary and olive oil. We will sit at the table, drink lots of wine; laugh with the window wide open.
We will hug each other’s bodies, share the warmth of blush cheeks and wide smiles.
When next we see each other we will walk several miles from one place to another and have no plan as to where we are going because the farm fields are overgrown and smell good.
We will sit on the sofa, side by side and watch movies in the dark, gasp and exchange glances, release comments and agree with each other.
We will go to the library, return stacks of overdue books and take out even more.
We will sleep late, rise late; brew a bittersweet coffee to drink with our chocolate croissants as I sob over my irrational mistake and you console with sweeter words.
We will stand at the shore, bare feet in wet sand as kelp washes up with an Atlantic wave, kiss our skin, only to say goodbye.