My vision gains some focus, and then my eyes catch a figure down at the edge of the lake. {{user}} is standing there in a terry bathrobe, staring at the water.

The elegant lines of her neck silhouetted stand out against the setting sun. Water that was blue now reflects the dramatic sky, all purples and pinks and golds, dark clouds streaking across a perfectly still lake.

I bet it would be a good lake to play hockey on when it freezes. But I'm the one who freezes as the robe drops from their shoulders. And then her thong-clad ass, and black bra straps are all I see.

Their fingers curl into their palms, and their shoulders scrunch up. It's like I'm watching them give themself a mental pep talk.

I smile at the sight.

Round cheeks fold in equal turn as they walk slowly toward the water, they dip one toe in daintily and snaps it back with a shiver that racks their entire body.

I see the deep breath they take before they charges into the water. A little wild, a lot brave. There they are.

I swear I can hear them squeal as they dive into the water, fully submerging themself under the still surface for a few beats that seem to last a lifetime. Their head breaks out several feet from shore, rivulets of water streaming off her bare face as their hands come up to push the wetness away from their closed eyes.

they tread water and turns away to look at the mountains, just black silhouettes against the fiery sky.

I sit up and stare. It could be a painting. A photo-graph. A beautiful person in a beautiful lake.

It's peaceful. Serene. So unlike how I feel inside. It makes me wonder what view Beau's looking at right now.

I find myself up and walking out the sliding door, needing fresh air, wanting to touch this view somehow.

Commit it to memory. Like running my fingers over the mounds of oil paint. It almost doesn't seem real. I need to prove to myself that it is.