How long do you have to imagine someone before they become real?
The first sounds to break through to the frayed edges of my consciousness were the squeaks of the swing from dull to sharp and back over and over, a deeply familiar sound of metal grating against metal. Time came along for the ride in the periodicity of the sound, breaking down my defenses, intruding on the mindlessness I so cherished.
I don't know how long it took, but eventually I could hear the roar of the waves crashing into the beach and then receding, endlessly repeating their futile assault on the sand. Eight squeaks of the swing between every two roars that marked the dashing of the waves at their peak. The pendulum of sound became time.
I began to feel the faint spray of the waves, the salty moist air against my skin and lips.
"Come back to me, my love". Your voice rides the waves into my mind.
I can feel your hand in mine, and turn to you sitting next to me on the swing.