I was watching her drum her fingers on the table. She was nervous, I just felt finished. She was beautiful but I knew she was going to fade, that she would only satisfy me as a dream or in my photographs. The warm air was thick and sweet and I wished it felt better, but it didn't. I edged my feet out of my shoes and let the blades of grass wind their way between my toes. I had led her here with the promise of adventure but I knew I failed her and I was too exhausted to show her I was sorry. Smoke rose up from my cigarette and my head felt light under the pressure of our disconnection. I was acutely aware of our impermanence. I felt the gentle sadness and wistfulness of our eventual passing, but felt tenderly grateful that we both knew what we had shared—however fleeting it was.