We sat on top of the warped wooden picnic table and talked about romantic ideas, our fingers playing with the sand that filled the grooves of the wood. Like promises that last a lifetime without being broken and secret lives that are never discovered. It smelled like rain and we weren’t dressed appropriately for the approaching storm but it felt right to stay there. The wind was blowing my hair into my face and thunder boomed in the far distance. We talked about where we imagined ourselves in ten years and promised each other that we’d always come back here together, even if we weren’t dating, at least once a year. It was one of those days we never wanted to forget. Nothing substantial was happening but the feeling of being happy just to do anything with each other was for keeps.
our album days