Remnants

It starts with an anxious scurry of doing.

Front flips marking the first plunge of the summer into a night-lit pool.

Then, days pass ...

Heavy legs and a subdued, fulfilling melancholy.

An inevitable sense of loss .

Strangers are friends.

Remembered, years later, for the part they played in a finite suspension of all that's wrong with life.

It's better that you never asked their name.