The last evening on the beach

The last day was the best day. And the evening of the last day was the best part of the best day. We shared a bottle of wine and listened to tinny music from the radio and no-one wanted it to end and we swore to always be friends and to meet up at the same place on the same day in ten year's time.

Ten years was an almost unimaginably long time. But it was no time at all. And, after no time at all had passed, I could have gone back.

I should have gone back.