It was inside a silver day.
They swam, unclothed, through waters that held an echo of the sky,
and deeper, where light was lost to the lake.
Fallen blossom floated on the flattened water,
a single petal left in her tangled hair.
We were careless, she said,
upon a rock, two fingers in a belt loop of his jeans.
We were carefree, he said,
his hand under the hem of her damp vest.
What if they knew? she said.
If only they knew, he said.
Between them was the soft toy bought at a motorway service station,
each of them holding one of the bear’s paws,
watching the sun decline the day.
Who keeps the bear? she said.
This place, he said. This sunset.
Yes, she said.
This tree, she said,
her hand on its trunk.
Together, they climbed the tree until they found its perch,
a space between branches, a window beyond the valley.
Bye, bear, he said.
Take care, bear, she said.
Love
——.you
The bear sits there still, watching for the sunrise,
waiting for the sunset.
And the tree grows, five hundred species of life,
and the bear.
And perhaps their love grew, the woman, the man.
Or it ended.
Theirs is not a story that is known.
To say it was the greatest love story ever told would be to know every love story.
And would be for it to be told.
Original illustration: @evil.madeline
vss #83
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What happens to the bear?
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