There was a stretch of golden beach; her body was warm, fuzzy as a peach.

Beside the Great Lake, the summer ran slow - and if you’ve ever been there, you’ll know

those hours that seem as though they must be imbued with some kind of fairy dust.

The late afternoon wends into eve - and some of those days, one could almost believe

that the sun just stopped in the sky; hung just above the horizon for days - then by and by

night comes on. That was the time we had - I think of it often, though it leaves me sad.

We were young, then - love didn’t yet make sense. But in our budding adolescence

we grew closer then, than even cousins, or siblings. It seemed like we had dozens

of days in that sun. The skies of flame as the sun finally ducked and out the stars came.

A thousand games we played, a thousand times we talked and laughed, and always we stayed

out as late as we could until we were called for. But even the endless summer wore

itself out and came to its end. And we and our parents and families went home, and she

ended up I know not where. Another school, another town. Another friend to sit in the cool

evening with toes in the sand, looking up into space. That’s what I missed most going back to the place.

The beach was still gold, the days were still long. But the ghost of her memory made everything wrong.

The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold; a place once so magical now hurt to behold.