We danced on the cliff you and I. Born of love and light. Bred of sadness and darkness. Melted together, alone but alive. Our love smelled of the earth and of the chalk and the timelessness of it all. And I think now of all the lovers who have stood where we stood. Of all of the stories of love and loss that have roots in the chalk beneath our feet, above our heads held close together preserving our perfect quiet world. I wonder how many arms clung tight to each other against the future stretching out like the channel before us. And I wonder about the thousands of years these cliffs have been stage to the greatest dramas of so many lives. Were any of them as torn as I was? Does my misery, my sadness, my loss and confusion mingle with theirs now? Is my heartbreak their company in the mist? How many of them had to watch the love of their life disappear into the English fog like I had to watch you go? I yearn for that love. For the power of it. I ache for it to fill me once more like the sea salt and mist that settles over, I strive for the way it felt when you stood next to me in Dover.