ClostGoth

Golden sun sinks lower in the sky and the breeze sends a shiver over my heated skin. Seagulls cry and dive for tidbits left by picnicking tourists. I’ve always hated the tourists. They destroy the peace we’re supposed to be able to find here. And yet I continue to come, even years after his passing. We used to come here together, he and I. Our souls craving evidence of tidal activity even when tourists kept us from finding the peace we so craved. Ten years he’s been gone. He was taken from me so suddenly. And yet I come here yearly still, my soul sending a proverbial message in a bottle to that far away place where I firmly believe his soul waits for me still. I never thought I would survive his passing, yet here I am. How can it be any other way than our rejoining? Perhaps we’ll journey to a new life, where we can enjoy lazy afternoons on the beach in our prime; watching our children grow into adults and laughing at the antics of our grandchildren in the waves. I stand weightlessly and wade out into the water. I grasp the handrail and mount the first step, and the door opens. I turn to look back at the beach. There I lay in the sand, my head pillowed on my arms and a serene smile on my upturned face. My hair blows across my eyes, thick still though all color has been bleached away. I am saddened, thinking about the grandchildren whose children will never know me. I turn and glance at the door, hesitant. But there he is, on the other side, a huge welcoming smile on his face. I cross the threshold with renewed vigor, anxious to see what our future together holds.

__________________
I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.
--Douglas Adams