(Title care of the Doris Day ditty).

The beach at dusk. The sun gone to bed. There’s a cool breeze blowing that tosses my skirt and hair and chills me despite my jumper. Or is it my heart, that cold, dead lump, chilling me from the inside out? And really, what does it matter? I took a step further towards my next adventure today. Bring it on.

THINGS TO FORGET

Your shoe size
Three chains and a ring
Quiet mornings before dawn
Your hands in my hair
How you like your rolls
Every mark, every scar, every wrinkle
Your neck beneath my lips
Arm wrestling
Rupert
Looking for camels
Black velvet
Green eyes
How you sound falling asleep
The ridges of the muscles in your thighs
The lines of your back, shoulders and arms
The crack of the ball off your bat
Working shirtless across the room
The songs you sang
That I love you
That I love you
That I love you

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