Flight tomorrow is scheduled at eight in the morning. It’s been a busy week, a busy month. I could very well sleep in a cozy hotel room. Here I am staring out into the sea.
I’ve never been here, I confess to Mike; but it feels all so familiar. I urged him to go back to his room but he won’t. I tell him I can’t sleep. I tell him lazy answers. But he never asks lazy questions. I tell him that I could’t sleep and that I hate mornings. That I suffer the same tragedy as Marla Singer. I could die any moment. I just don’t. I tell him how once, just once in my life someone has made me feel so alive. That once I had good sleep and I always look forward to the next day. Because perhaps that’s the most basic thing in life, the desire to live. And that I don’t have anymore.
And if only people have the ability to see even just fragments of time that has passed, I would be sitting here right next to him, in this place, and we’ll both be staring out into this calm sea. And if only I could wait for him right here, perhaps i’d take the chance. Perhaps i’d even wait a lifetime.