Our last day. The sun comes up, just as it has always done. Bathing the world in its glow. But here nothing can seem to warm us. We both know this is the end of a wonderful vacation. The things we have done and experienced will live in our memories forever. The people remembered, never to be forgotten. Why did this day ever have to come? Why can't we just stay here, together? I'm sure the world won't notice two more people missing.
Reality kicks in. Although neither of us has had a good night we realise it had to come and we must go on. Life goes on and there is nothing to say that we won't meet again. Besides it's only 4,000 miles. A mere drop in the ocean.
We make a pact; we will meet again, somehow.
Quiet and sombre, we pack and load the car. With just one backward glance we drive away. Off to the airport and home. Two very empty homes.
Hardly a word is exchanged in the drive away from the villa. Memories flooding back into our minds, all mixed up but all in perfect clarity. Neither of us will forget this. Then, there is the sign for the car returns. In, drop off. All so final. So sad. Then it's up to the departure lounge. The place is pretty full; family's waiting, lines forming, all preparing to check in.
We head towards our desk. Having to make a long detour because of the length of one of the lines we pass close to some of the shops and nearly fall over a billboard outside a newsagent. We manage to get passed and I glance back. Puzzled? I think what is it? Strange. Then it hits me. It's like being kicked in the chest by a mule. I start to shake; my legs go weak as I slowly slide to the floor. Unable to move, eyes fixed. Then there you are. Kneeling in front of me. Holding my face in your hands. Tears are running down your face and you are shouting at me, but I can here nothing, my mind is numb.
I have to make you understand. I reach for my back pocket and start to pull out my wallet. It nearly falls from my shaking hands. I open it, and what seems to me to happen in slow motion, I start to empty the contents on the floor. One item at a time. Bank notes, till receipts, a scrap of paper with a telephone number on. More and more drop to the floor. Then it's empty. My head is screaming at me, this can't happen, not now. I pull open the leather fold and look down inside. Crumpled in the bottom is one last piece of paper. I reach in, take hold, and with fingers hardly able to move I pull it out.
The wallet drops to the floor as I hold the paper with both hands, I start to flatten it out, and this is made more difficult due to the fact that you are now shaking me. I pull away from you and flatten it out. It's about the size of the palm of my hand. I examine it and breath out, close my eyes and start to slide further down to the floor. You hold me up, how I don't know; I must be just a dead weight. Then it hits me, you've got to know. I grab your wrist and twist it over, palm up. I must be hurting you. I force your fingers open and lay the piece of paper in your hand. Then with one hand I force your face around whilst with the other I point a shaking finger at the billboard.
