I sometimes wondered if summer would be the last thing I saw on this earth.
Sunrise, sunset - it all bled together with the constant droning of Kitty's bees, a sound I don't think I will ever be able to wash from my ears. She went back into the house, the screen door slamming shut behind her. She didn't do this on purpose; it's always been that way, too eager to close even on its rusted hinges.
I should have fixed that for her.
I should have done a lot of things, I suppose.
Away from everything, away from the city and the hustle-bustle that used to be my life, I felt like I was living inside a time capsule. And Kitty - her life was so simple, but she was one of the most beautiful people I'd have ever met.
And she was so happy.
These are things I thought as I lay on my back surrounded by that sweet summer green grass scent, droning bees and the swift, stiff breeze off the ocean providing the ambient sound to that afternoon, to every afternoon. A door closed. A child laughed from down on the beach.
And Kitty turned on the radio so that I wouldn't hear her crying.