His tears were like drumbeats: slow and steady.
His body ached as he moved, like his bones were made of splintering glass. How fitting, he thought bitterly. Indeed, everything had shattered.
It seemed like he had only found her just to lose her again. Sixteen years together, sixty years apart, and only four happy years for him to cherish her in the end.
And they were happy years, he remembered. He didn't know of any woman who'd aged more beautifully than his Kanna. Still the same high-spirited girl with bright eyes and a pleasant laugh, despite the many lines on her face. For the thousandth time, he wished that it had been he who had grown old with her.
Better late than never, spoke his mind, as he fingered the delicate necklace of blue shell. He remembered what she had said to him the night he proposed, the second time. She never could think of why she had really kept his old necklace, even when married to another man. "I guess I wanted to remember," she said, "that I didn't hate you. I only hated that it wasn't my choice to make."
"You have a choice now," he'd answered quietly. "Will you choose me?"
She had, and the now the drumbeat tears came faster. Only four years of happy memories, and although he screamed against the unfairness of it all, he would keep them. It would be enough, until fate could bring him back to his Kanna again.
Sixteen years together, sixty years apart. Four years in love. Pakku took comfort in that at least this time, they wouldn't be separated for too long.
