Cairns.

We walked the two blocks to the water's edge. A wide expanse of mud stood between the strip of sand and the open water.
Crabs glistened wetly in their thick coats of chocolate sediment. Come low tide they had emerged from their holes and hollows and spent the hours picking over the mud like scavengers behind a retreating army. The sun flashed off them as they moved.
We continued past the red stemmed and gold stemmed palms, and onto the boardwalk. Small waves slapped the rocks beneath.
Tinnies returned from their open ocean errands and cruisers released their tourists on the marina.

It was here she said goodbye.

The experiment was over. There were no coals to rake through nor angry words to be exchanged. Ending it was a formality devoid of histrionics and pleas for reconsideration.
I wandered to where the waves caressed the sand and with a rhythmic shushing, lulled it to sleep. I sat and stayed until she'd had enough time to pack then made my own way back to the apartment, squinting into the sun.

Pairs of small speckled doves they sell in petshops down south scuttled out of my way. A couple of tiny olive coloured honeyeaters inspected the epiphytes on the fig on the corner. I stopped to watch a gathering of green tailed ants mill undecidedly on the curb, then I went inside.
I sat down with a bottle and one of those glasses that are too small for a swig and too big for a sensible shot, alternately cursing her and mourning her til the bottle was gone.

Then I waited for high tide to take me away.