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July 15, 2015
Her memories of him consisted of the pinkest bougainvilleas, boats, rickety huts, sweltering heat, gnarly tree branches, white sand, an analogue camera. There is a kite, too. His voice outside the hut calling her name, his head poking in the doorway, asking her for instructions on how to survive in an island with no electricity. His face in front of the fire. His laughter mixed with the sound of waves. Heavy rain, lightning, the smell of salt, charred pork meat, instant coffee. It's contained in those few days she spent with him hoping he'd see her at last. He didn't.