You remember what it reminded me of, don’t you? Your memory always was better than mine.
Don’t worry, I’d never forgotten that weekend in the boarding house in Scarborough, where we snuck away to squander my first paycheck. I can’t remember what the place was called, but I remember the way old Mrs Donahue sniffed when we signed in as Mr and Mrs Smith. That woman made the most watery tea either of us have ever drunk. We never did decide whether she was punishing us for bringing sin across her threshold or if she was simply a tea bag miser.
We had to stifle our laughter whenever she was in the same room as us. That glare of hers could curdle milk, but it couldn’t spoil that weekend for us.
What I had so unforgivably forgotten was our walk along the clifftop, with the North Sea rolling along the beach below us while spring flowers bloomed around our feet. The scent of sea and nectar were the perfect backdrop to that weekend. I will never understand how they slipped my mind.
The moment the memory returned to me, I knew I’d be bringing you crocuses and daffodils on my next visit. Please accept them as my apology for the memories leaking out of this decaying vessel that contains them.
Your memories haven’t faded, have they? For you, every day you lived is as fresh as if it was only yesterday. That’s what I choose to believe. I’ll know soon, because this vessel doesn’t have much decaying left in it. Soon, I will be lying beside you, and we can share our memories again.