The light was losing itself to shadow.
Only a suggestion remained of what had once been.
The seas and the seasons had taken the rest.
He struggled up the hill.
He stood again, after all the years, on their spot,
on the whips of life tenting up through the dead grasses as the ruins watched him.
She’d been 19 when he asked her to marry him there.
She’d worn her mother’s perfume and a smile.
He’d only been 17 but he’d found all he’d ever needed.
Goodbye, he cried into the shadow of the day as he released her ashes.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Photograph of Dunure Castle along the South Ayrshire coastline in Scotland.