By The Shores

The great blue washes over her feet and the pebbles, as she sits in her place of solace, where she always finds comfort.

But not now.

It is not this place today. It cannot be. It will never be, perhaps.

She cries over that which she has lost, that which saved her.

That alone for which she lived.

Her tears ripple on the waves that come gently ashore.

She cries, but it is futile.

She picks up a pebble, one of many that dot the beach, unaware that she has done so.

Hoping against all hope, to find relief.

But she cannot. Not today.

This place is her escape, her only refuge.

A place of innocence, always cherished.

But not today.

For that which is forever taken can never come back.

She curses the clear sky, the foamy sea, the soft sand.

Even the horizon itself, which once held so much hope.

She curses everything.

Her tears fall faster and heavier now, peppering the sand and the seashells that adorn it.

She sits on the wet sand, beside the sea she loves, oblivious to everything.

The sea could have swallowed her, where she sat.

And not a whit of difference.

What would it have mattered anyway?

The world ceases to exist.

The pebble still rests in her hand; she presses it against her palm.

After a while, she feels nothing.

Submerged in numbness.

Untouched by everything.

An insensate fury pulsing behind fading eyes.

The world is full of colour, but she does not see it.

She does not want to see it.

She prays for the will to keep herself upright.

She yearns to be held again.

v   

He walks along the shore, taking in the cool breeze being blown in from the sea.

Finding something unfathomable here.

Something that cannot be sought Outside.

Outside, being the world’s insanity.

He has never been here before.

Regrets that this has been hidden from him.

Hands quivering to the touch.

Or rather, that he has hidden from it.

From it all.

A solitary shoot in a withering orchard.

To have never stumbled across such divinity, he wonders to himself.

But he knows it now, knows that he will never be able to tear himself away.

His feet lick the cool water.

He sees a figure in the distance.

Even far from reach, he can see.

A figure shrouded in sorrow.

A woman, her dress wet.

Her dark tresses swept out in the breeze.

Wary is he, at first.

He walks towards her, his pace slowing.

He sees then, knows everything.

For he has felt this before.

Words need not flow between them.

She looks at him through a watery haze.

But in her eyes he sees the faintest flicker.

She leans in as he sits down beside her.

She gives herself to him completely.

The great blue washes over his feet and the pebbles as he takes her in his arms, letting her lay her head on his chest.