We got there early, and had “a perfect day”. I recall sprawling in a garden, reading a linguistics book, evading a cat that shared the space. We went out on the sea, and a photograph jogs my memory of sitting by the beach.
Our happiness is something we’ve narrated and charged into pictures, so I cannot capture it; and these moments always seem lost, as though happiness is past. But it’s an illusion – today’s mundanity will one day be stored in nostalgic memory, a bestseller that stuck and got a new edition, with illustrations and introductions, changing what it is.