buddy, boy, and girl

We had been sitting side by side on weathered stones, beside a washed up fish skeleton from the passing river, for what we were hypothesizing was anywhere from an eternity to no time at all. A rainbow colored petroleum membrane lapped atop the waves that broke at our feet, as a soda bottle followed a gaggle of geese downstream.

"[Words mean nothing]," she said again and again. I must have looked at 800,000 of hers that day. We planned to stay until deaf and blind, until we could stand atop the tower of Babel. I told her B.C. was a close destination. But, in my seventh postcard I apologized that we would never make it.