I remember when we were close. Now I can’t look at a sunset on the sea without remembering her, reminding me of our last evening. She was life, or so it seemed, standing in her thin summer clothes, looking out into the waves. The sun was sinking, drowning in the watery horizon. The crowds of humanity that cover the beach during the day were gone, and we had the bay all to ourselves. This would be the last time, she told him, as a sad faraway look clouded those usually bright blue eyes. She looked into the distance as if she could see to the other side of the waters, to the countries beyond that she would soon call home. A place his love couldn't follow her. He walked up behind her, put his hands on her hips, and looked out over the sea, smelling her short, dark brown hair as it drifted past his cheek. He tells her he knows, that he understands, and that he won’t forget her. That there’s no way he could. There is hurt in his eyes, matched only by the hurt in hers. This would be their last night. As the sun set, they were the last ones to leave the sand behind, the last rays of orange light touched their backs as they walked hand-in-hand for the last time.