The Caretaker

By Steven Holding

I remember.
Lying side by side, floating in the ocean, looking up at the night sky. Your hand in mine. Time seemed to stop as all sense of self dissipated, swallowed whole by the darkness, life as meaningless as each single speck of distant white light.
So many!
Millions and millions of stars.
It’s said you die twice. Once, as all that you are leaves this planet. Then a second death, when the last one to know you is gone.
In this place, I’m reminded every day of who I am.
I don’t know your name.
But I remember you.

“Twenty-six letters rearranged then placed upon a page never ceases to amaze.” – the writer