I step into the sand and the coldness of it surprises me. My nightgown falls around my knees as I walk to the water. It’s mid-July; my favorite month of the year. The warmth of the wind blows my hair in small waves. I close my eyes. I can smell the ocean and hear the crash of its waves. It is so subtle to the sound of my heart beating. I hug my arms in close to me even though I am not cold. I open my eyes and look out into the water and in the reflection of the moon I think about him. I think about the way he makes me feel beautiful and original; something that can’t be broken or else it will be lost forever.
I allow one tear to slide silently down my cheek. He isn’t mine. He never was mine. I humor myself thinking for an instant I can be that girl again. The one who never knew what it was like to love and have lost, or to experience even for a brief moment the security of being in someone else’s arms and then having to be broken out of them. Even if those arms didn’t belong to me, the significance of that feeling pulls at my heartstrings and I lay down on the dunes, crying myself to sleep, crying myself into insanity, until I can no longer feel. I have learned what it is like to cry myself into oblivion, and I know that it is better than hurting.
I do not know how long I laid there silently weeping to only myself but I know at some point I got a hold of myself because I could feel my legs moving toward the sea. I look down the shoreline and I see him. He doesn’t see me or he does and has decided not to act on it. I find myself watching him, the way he stands so still under the moon annoys me. I want to be near him, I want to walk over and fold myself into him, where I belong. Slowly, he turns his head towards me and I realize it wasn’t him at all. He is a stranger and just walks the opposite direction leaving me alone on the beach with only my thoughts to entertain me.
If I told you I had the strength to leave and to start over I’d be lying. I am not strong and I do not wish to start over. In that decision I believe I am weak. I do not want to move, I want to go home but I know all too well that as soon as I go home I will want to be back here. That is when I normally find myself walking. When I do not know whether I want to be here or there is when I am in between, trapped inside my mind, not knowing what I want out of life or myself, or anyone. So I run. I run all the way back, back to the summer where I could still call myself a girl and when the water was caressing and the sand was supportive. Back to the summer when I didn’t have a care in the world and when ice cream satisfied all my hunger. Riding my bike down the boardwalk eating ice cream in my shorts and laughing with my friends and flirting with any guy who gave me the time of day, yes, that is what I remember.
Above all I remember him. I can still picture him with his sandy blonde hair and freckled nose and cheeks perfectly kissed by the sun. I remember his deep brown eyes and sexy, caring voice that drew me in and wound me up. The way he smiled like he had a secret that only I was in on. I still recall us fooling around on the sand or splashing in the water stealing kisses here and there when no one was looking; when we were the only two people in the world, he in mine and I in his. If I try hard enough I can still remember what it felt like to be pressed against his perfectly cut body late at night, wrapped tightly around each other, him whispering sweet nothings in my ear as if time were irrelevant. After that, I feel numb. Saying goodbye was like ripping a piece of me deep within that left me bleeding, a gaping hole I cannot fill. Right below my breastbone I can feel it. It is always there, waiting for him to come back and fill me up again.
I cut myself off from the memories and frantically wipe my tears because they are coming down hard and fat, and warm. I pull my hair back out of my face and sit there until I can feel the remnants of my tears drying and staining my flushed out cheeks. I stifle a sob and will myself to stand up. I have to make myself turn away from the moons reflection on the calm and steady waters as I walk up the beach back to my home. I retrieve my sandals and slip them on. I turn back one more time to stare at the beauty of the ocean and immediately regret it. How can I turn away now? I close my eyes and once more take in the smell of the ocean spray and the warmth of the wind around my bare neck. I turn away and I do not look back again. Instead, I tread through the sand up to the pier that leads to the road that will take me home. I will never forget him and on nights like this it is almost impossible to. I lift my chin up and roll my shoulders back and pretend. I pretend like nothing could possibly be nagging at my thoughts or drowning me in my memories. I pretend because if I don’t, I could never fool myself that things can be okay again.
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