It started with a trip to the beach. Running our fingers through the warm sand, letting seashells jingle rough in our palms. We tasted the summer air and the salt-spray of the ocean. We relaxed. It was the last day of our vacation.
Tomorrow, she would fly home to Montana and I would stay. I had a job in Atlanta waiting. I had a future career as an Architect. I had just graduated from university, but she had two more years. We thought of breaking off to live our separate lives but decided we were too in love to let things end.
We strived to make it work. We promised: to call every night, to write romantic letters, to stay steadfast. To always love. We were naïve and young, then.
But the promise of something greater kept our sanity. That hope, one day, of a picket fence with four dogs, white sedan and liquor cabinets well-stocked—we clung to that dream. We prayed it would not fade like dusk goes down to darkness. We worried. But those troubles were woes for another day.