One summer's night we took a drive down to Bondi, parked in the carpark next to the SLSC, held hands and talked.
By this I mean we didn't have much to say. Bondi was deserted at this hour. A few hoons made donuts spinning their cars on Campbell Parade, roaring off as soon as a cop car came along. A pair of sneakers hung from a dim lamp post.
The Pacific Ocean was almost pitch black, warmed by the glow of the Eastern Suburbs. It was quiet except for the waves slapping the beach, and quieter crashes further north on the rocks at both edges of the bay.
Each time the waves slapped, there was a fuzzy luminescence that disappeared as quickly as it formed. We marvelled at this silently, held hands and talked.
Then she said, Do you love me?
Tell me why you love me?
I don't know. I just know I do.
She put her head on my shoulder, and squeezed my hand tighter. And we watched the water's fuzzy grin appear and disappear again and again.