Á la Dylan Thomas



Our days together, countless consexutive days. It started with us on the ground, a moment when something is so funny your legs can no longer support you.  We rolled in laughter, bellies aching, you had to be there.  Rainy days sent us around the island, driving in circles, beautiful hour long circles. She was Rapa nui, and I was Rio; we lived in our adventures, out and back and gone again.  The sleeping bag that was too small for one person we shared, aligned under stars on a beach, she was my constellation.  Warm clear waters were home, for miles and miles we danced; I was her anchor in rough seas.  We tripped into a sunrise, found ourselves upon a volcanic glow, hurled ourselves off cliffs, all in good fun.  My arms cocooned her all too comfortably on a moonlit mountain. She returned the favor on a sailing night, a brief recreation of an iconic Titanic scene.  With her I was the “King of the world.”  That’s what love does, I took her to new heights, she showed me new lows. You never know what you have till it’s gone.  No, it’s the choices we make that turn a man to stone,  “Do not go gentle into that good night.”