I told Jeff the beach may be my favorite in December. Empty, chilly. The birds own it in winter. The sun still sets there and the waves still crash there the same as in July, but in winter I feel like it is happening only for me. There is nothing quite like being surrounded by something so vast and beautiful and yet not have to share it with others.
“No, summer is best.”
Sometimes I like that I can’t persuade him even though I feel I’ve given the best reasons for my opinion. He is his own person. A man. My favorite person. My favorite man.