PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Once a week we met here to kiss and to whisper, as the waves lapped gently at the shore.

Now I sit beneath the creaky wooden boardwalk alone while families and couples and friends run and play and talk above.

I wonder why you stopped coming, if your body will ever be found or – if you will ever know that the kisses I gave you were real and not just cover.

We could meet openly now, if we wanted to.

And then, I could tell you we won the war, and at what cost.

***

This is my entry for Friday Fictioneers, where every week writers get together to write 100-word stories based on a prompt. For more stories, click the frog: