I thought it would be fun to do another writing challenge. You get a choice of photo and you write about it. So here goes:
Swallowed in the sea
It had always been her dream. Move away to the coast. We would watch for signs of life in the spring. We could go for walks on the sand in the summer. In the autumn we would have barbecues with melted marshmallows. In the winter, we would get waterproof boots and clamber over the rocks. We would kiss under the stars at night. There would be so many stars by the sea. Life wouldn’t be so busy. People wouldn’t be so stressed. Even the fish and chips would taste fresher, better.
I don’t know why I did it. Moved to the sea after she had gone. It had never been my dream. I wanted the hustle. The bustle. The noise. The people. The crazy and the hectic. I didn’t care if the fish tasted better by the sea. What would I do all day? There were only so many stars to look at in the sky.
Here I was. Looking out to sea.
I felt her all around me. Floating in the sea. Swaying in the wind. Salty in the air. She hadn’t made it to the coast when she was with me, but she was here now, forever.
I had scattered the ashes out to sea. Some had landed in the water, others gathered like dust in the air and flew further and further away. A whole person just vanished. The body gone, the remains strewn into the ocean.
It had been her wish to hear the waves crash as we slept with the window open. To collect shells. To jog on the beach. To watch a thunderstorm out at sea whilst hiding safely under an umbrella. To borrow a friendly neighbour’s dog and take it for walks. To buy a tent and sleep on the sand. To need to tap out the sand in our shoes every morning. This had been her dream.
Here I was. At the coast. Looking out to sea. Alone. No friendly neighbour’s dog. No waterproof boots although it was stormy. There would be no star viewing tonight. Too many clouds.
And without her.
It was getting cold. The clouds looked ominous. Who knows how long I had been here. Waiting. Waiting for something. Not sure what. Waiting for a sign perhaps. Or a memory. What was I doing here? Day after day I came here. To the coast. It had been her dream, not mine.
She had been right. The fish tasted so much better here.