We lay in bed next to one another reading our respective books, mine either about food or photography and him a biography of some hero or antihero. It is our ritual. It is comfort. In my periphery I see his eyes drift from the page and he gets a funny smirk on his face. I ask him what he is thinking about. He reminisces about summer days in South Africa, running over the sand dunes towards the ocean. It is amazing how vivid our memories can be. We can smell it and taste it. We close our eyes and for a moment we are there.