The waves are as hard and grey and wild as the granite hugging King George Sound.  Not a good day for boating, but you insisted.

 

Michaelmas and Breaksea Islands loom ahead, the swell groaning beneath us like a warning.  

 

We don't turn back.

 

Behind us lies the jetty we jumped off, the pontoon we swam to, the cove where I couldn't say I love you.

 

Have we sailed far enough? I wish I knew. I wish a lot of things.

 

I cut the engine, reach for you. My words catch on the wind with the ash I throw like confetti.