Sky blue paint is peeling off the walls of the asylum chapel where we meet.

The room is filled with the scent of old flowers, layered with an echo of celebration and reunions.

Instant nostalgia.

A new beginning is also an ending. Today is Betsy’s 80th birthday. It’s the end of a decade and the beginning of one.

Fire from the burning candles on a birthday cake flicker, reflected in Dahlia’s glasses. Friends are humming that familiar tune.

Suddenly time speeds up.

I’m dancing through a time warp.

Is this real? How will my memory preserve this moment?

Make a wish.

My mind races backwards and forwards.

How did we arrive here?

Suddenly our hands touch and forever is now.

We slip apart.

Walls come between us, more paint peels away.

Another year.

I still remember you in blue, the kind that is reflected in the ocean on a clear day.

From the moment we are born we are disappearing, love anyway and dance because of it.

That takes PLUCK.