What if Heaven and Hell are just the same, just differently branded?
Leaving the beach on a soft, sandy path, the sound of waves recedes behind mounds of marram grass and dunes.
The skylark-song-filled stillness here takes me back to another, wilder place not many miles from here but long ago enough to seem another lifetime. Another Summer evening when I walked beside someone whose hand I should have reached out and held. That simple move, which I think, from her warm proximity, she hoped for, might have changed my life in a simple but important way.
But I hesitated then, inarticulate in the language of intimacy, and so stayed hungry and untouched for longer than was good for me, until I took the risk and held another hand.