The night still, I peer over the Atlantic just after 1:00 AM.
The lights of cargo ships flickering in the distance, and only the brightest stars were visible amongst the light pollution.
I dig my toes into the sand, nesting like the turtles that crawled from the beach just a month prior. The barriers erected to protect their homes are still set up every 20 or so yards. The simplicity of their lives, either escaping to sea or cut short by a brutal horde of waiting predators feels almost cathartic.
I was supposed to meet someone else here, or he was supposed to meet me here. Two empty bottles of Pinot Noir sitting next to me dulling that memory. The memory of the man.
The wind whispering in my ear, reminding me of my past lovers, their tongues tickling my neck, the moisture culminating on my skin reminding me of their touch, the sweat we made together.
None of them amounted to much, lost in my whirlwind, lost in my passion, eventually losing themselves altogether.
I barely remember half of their names, their syllables just twinkle off my tongue, but I hope they were able to pick up their lives.
Driven from my rumination by a car horn screeching. A drunk slamming his hands on the hood.
Even though it’s the middle of the night, the streets are alive and the sidewalks busy. Snowbirds are just starting to make their way to town and this is one of the busiest beaches in the county.
Amongst the late-night crowds, I keep thinking I see the man. His soft eyes and forgiving smile, but my mind is playing tricks on me. I deserve this I think. The ache of waiting, of ghosts. The pain of love growing strained if it still exists at all.
I look back at the Atlantic, hoping the sea consumes me whole.