Valentine memory

It was a beautiful day to be lost, and so they were.

Having nothing else to do, they'd parked outside the village and walked under the arch toward the church whose steeple they could see in the near distance.

The village was stone quiet, typical of small villages in the midst of France near midday when people disappear, so that they felt like they had the place to themselves and could make up any sort of story they wanted.

The two of them found the fountain together, in the exact center of the village, as it always is in the old villages, and sat there in the sun, drinking water and eating the apples and bread they'd brought with them. As each of them knew what the other was thinking, there was no need to speak. So they sat in the sun, listening to the sound of the water, letting their bodies get really warm before they decided, silently, to rise and walk again.

When they came to the church, she pushed the door open and they entered. The empty church was cool, ideal for the meditation time he'd come to insist on everyday. He took a seat and closed his eyes, hearing the singing of all the people who weren't there but had been once upon a time. She waited for him in her own way, lighting a candle and leaving a euro in the wooden collection box.

Then they walked toward where they thought they'd parked the car, losing their way in the tiny village where the narrow streets seemed to have twisted themselves into new little knots.