The day skitters past her, shadowy and elusive. She reaches for it, but it slips and wriggles like salmon fighting upstream, always upstream of her, just out of reach. The shadows lengthen, the sky greying as the fireflies punch through the gloom with their tiny lanterns winking and winking. His face lights up in the flash of a match behind cupped hands, and the scent of smoke snakes across the shadows that lie between them, secretive like the way he used to talk to her back when they shared a bed, tangled up their limbs and lives. He was always a sharp breeze away from closing off, always one whisper away from telling her he loved her, and she imagined some nights after they'd finished having sex that he'd grabbed her hair in his fists and pulled her face to his and kissed her open mouth roughly instead of pushing her face and open mouth down, always open mouthed and sucking further down.