It’s a quiet place, Eumemerring. It always was. Not because people avoided it, and not due to the sort of oppressive silence that some places have, either. It’s simply a place that, in some unspoken way, demands a certain amount reverence. If you must speak there, you do it in hushed tones.

We went there, many years ago, you and I. We picnicked, and drank, and made love as the sun set and the birds sang. Late into the night, we snuggled beneath our blanket, telling each other secrets and lies and plans for a future that we would never share, though little we realised it that night. We fell asleep beneath the light of moon and stars, and awoke to a cold morning in field of flowers and birdsong.

But something changed for us while we slept. After that night, things were never the same again between us. The end was months in coming, but inevitable when it did, and merciful in its closure.

I don’t know if you ever went back there, but I myself never have. I cannot think of the that place without thinking of that night, and you murmuring…

Suburbs near Eumemerring:

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