I desperately offer this failure of a soliloquy.
My hands trace circles in the sand. Out here it’s just me, the sand, the ocean that seems to be singing a melancholy song– and him.
“I don’t want to,” he tells me and grabs my hand. He stares into my soul and then he disappears.
Out here it’s just me, the sand, the ocean that seems to be singing me a melancholy song, and a sky so dark it seems to be mourning alongside me. The stars hold my hand. I, too, disappear, becoming one with the ocean.