Gone

Sometimes she would float for hours, as if time wasn’t important. Her skin loved the sensation of the hot sun and the cool water. Looking up into the sky, a palm tree swayed in the breeze as a squirrel scurried down its trunk.

She smiled, remembering their honeymoon. Remembering Eddie. And the fat little squirrel that would scamper onto their balcony every morning as they ate breakfast.

Eddie would tear off the corners of his waffle and leave them on the railing. The squirrel ate contentedly, nestled between their coffee cups and newspapers. The morning they checked out, Eddie ordered an extra plate of waffles, setting it out one last time for their little friend.

Animals loved him. Everyone loved him.

For three months after, whenever they sat outside, Eddie would tilt his face to the sky, point at the clouds, and swear one looked like a squirrel.

She only had the heart to agree.

Somewhere between the blue above her and the blue below, there was a world she belonged to, a life that still needed her. But today, she let herself drift—staring at the puffy white clouds and dreaming of someone too far away to ever come back.