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This is where he and I became us. And this is where I left him. 3 years ago, it was where we had shared our sweetest moments. I remembered the way it always seemed like the palm trees were trying their best to protect my pale shoulders from the heavy sun, when we spent early evenings on restaurant patios, incredulous that we were allowed into such an idyllic place. Unfortunately that was not enough to save me, and I spent the first week finding solace underneath a poolside umbrella. This was the same place that I had learnt about that specific show he had watched as a kid when his parents went out for the evening. The same place where I realised just how bad he was at handling his drink; about how soft his hands really were, even in the buzzing island heat of 2 a.m. This, now, was not something you'd picture as part of your paradise. Heaven doesn't get to see people before they enter, and I no longer get to wake up besides the man I married. I pictured his shoulder-length blonde hair, a thing of pride that never ceased to annoy his mother at family gatherings. The freckles that ran along the tops of his cheeks, especially present during the summer when it seemed to be the only reliable way of measuring daylight hours. His eyes. I stood on the stern of a small ship, blindingly white in the glare on the midday sun. I was being driven away from land, 3 nautical miles minimum, so states the law. The captain was a thin, brown man with kind eyes and noticeably worn hands. He wore a navy cap, no doubt to protect him from the unrelenting rays. I could not imagine what he had seen in his time. How does it feel to spend your days saying goodbye to people you've never met? Does the rock of the boat calm you against the cries of the survivors? I remembered the way the breath flew out of my chest when an older woman had taken the seat next to me on the plane here. His seat. Everything on this trip would be his, I had thought. Even when I was packing, I mindlessly left space for his clothes, since we had always shared a suitcase. But I would have to find more of myself to fill the empty spaces that would kept popping up. As the sway slowed, I knew it was time to let go. The engine went silent, and the driver gave me a knowing nod, removing his hat, rolling it up and holding it in both of his hands. I breathed in the sea air, not realising that I had been holding my breath up until this point. I exhaled and opened up the small, silver container I had been holding in my left hand and spoke. "Hello", which I knew, now, meant goodbye. I had been advised on the number of ways to do this, but I thought of this as my last chance to hold him. I scooped a handful of the silky, off-white powder into my hand and offered it up to the sea, as if willing it to reach out and take it. A gust picked up and I spread my fingers out, allowing him to gently slip through and be on his way. As he flitted down on the breeze he looked the way the golden sands I had now left behind felt. He danced in the hot air, as playful as always, over the eye-blue sea we had dived into on our first day here. I realised just how full I was. For some reason, which I am still searching for, I smiled.