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A Walk On the Beach - Continued
(Part Two) I go back to a time, (one of many), when we were there, caught in the rain and salt mist ... little droplets would form on your eyelashes like diamonds, as if giving value to those eyes beneath them, (that sometimes frightened me with their ability to see straight into my soul). One of those times in the rain, when the water soaked my hair and ran down my face, I looked straight at you and cried, but you couldn't tell ... tears lost in the rain and ocean mist. Something deep in my being, from that place I never acknowledge, whispered to me ... and I knew, as surely as I've ever known anything, that this day would come ... that someday in my future I would be here alone, remembering and mourning what we had and lost, I looked as deep into you as I could, so when this day came I might still feel you here with me ... despite the longing and emptiness and pain of the reality of having you gone. My face was soaked with tears, but you never knew ... looking straight into you I cried, but you couldn't tell ... from the core of my being the sadness flowed from my eyes, taking with it my passion for you, and burning my heart with the inescapable truth that this day would come ... that despite all the wishes and hopes and talk and doubtless plans of forever, despite the reality of you there in my arms, kissing you in the rain, drinking in your warmth ... Despite the strength of all I was and could be, fighting to deny it could ever happen, still in my deepest being I knew ... I knew without question it was only temporary .... only a moment ... why or how I could know this was beyond my understanding, but it was inescapable ... and now that day was here, that day I struggled so hard to deny, and worked so hard to avoid. It had come to me at last, as I knew it would that day, and I hated myself for being right. There was a time when we decided to be apart for a while, though I can't recall the reasoning. I think we were both just searching then, and testing the boundaries of our love. We used an argument over something silly as the catalyst, but we both knew better ... we both knew it was something more ... something larger and necessary and real. I remember we would both come here, to "our" place ... "our" rock, but at different times. I remember how I would walk faster on the way here, anticipating ... because, (knowing I would go there each day), you would take a stick and scratch messages in the sand for me ... simple messages like "I miss you" and "I love you" and "someday" and "you're my beacon" ... brief corny treasures that filled my heart, and kept me warm with hope and purpose and reason. And I would erase them and write my own to you, (longer poems, that you collected in a notebook). Now, when I come here for this silly little ritual of mine, (one that the gulls seem to laugh at), after I've purged my soul with this primal scream to the heavens, and I've moistened this rock with empty tears, I sit and take in the beauty, and I try hard to appreciate my life and what I'm blessed with, (though that seems a lie), and I pray and hope and wish like a child, that maybe, just maybe, if I open my foolish heart to the possibility ... When I turn around and look at the flat sand behind "our" rock, that there will be a message scratched in the sand ... a message meant only for me ... a message of hope and purpose and reason ... or maybe just a message to tell me I was on your mind ... that you still think of me with love and kindness and fond reflection ... but the sand is always smooth and untouched and a cold reminder of reality. So, I find a stick and scratch ... and then leave our place behind ... and a little more of you with it.
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