Prologue
I pleaded with the sea, casting my words away to be carried by the streams into the depths of the water, to be taken by the waves.
I am the one who sat by the beach every night and every day, watched the stream, and memorized the riptide.
And then I pleaded with the ocean. I implored the waves to carry me back to you. In a way, I made a selfish request, but I made it, dropped to my knees, and carried a desperate plea to the sea to take me back to you. To let me raise my head over the waters, and breathe the fresh air as the waves took me on their shoulders, lovingly back to shore. To safety.
To you.
And my last request from the ocean was to take me.
It was either take me to you or take my life.
I’ve left that decision to be made by the waves.
June 28, 2020
Thestreamsofwatermoved at a rhythmic pace as though they drew breath, rising and falling in a quiet dance. A soft, gentle chorus of trickling notes, rippling, whispering as it brushed against stone and ended at the tip of his toes.
Beneath the steady pulse of the ocean’s waves, he caught the faint crackle of the fire behind him—a soft crackling heartbeat woven into the night, whispering its warmth through the chill late-summer evening.
The streams of water moved up and down, dictating the future as the past pushed them farther and farther. Creating a wave that was destined to break on the shore with white foam and light splash that sounded like everything that was good in his world.
He watched as the sun dipped toward the edge of the horizon, slipping to the depth of the ocean, drawing her warmth and light away with her. He fixed his whisky-colored eyes on the sinking sun, his gaze on the final amber glow that was cast on the rippling waves, as the glow was sunk down. He lingered on this beach, as the beaming rays of the sun gave room to the white moon, rising in a quiet majesty, casting his cool, silvery glow across the deserted beach.
Beneath the pale gaze of the glowing moon, facing the ocean’s endless breath, Adrian drew in a trembling breath of his own. The waves rose and fell in their unhurried rhythm, as though each pull of the tide was a quiet struggle, drawn reluctantly toward the shore, only to surrender in a soft, white foam. That steady, timeless pulse held him together, kept him breathing, kept him alive, even as his own breath slipped just beyond his grasp. His heart bled with a silent ache, and his soul smoldered, burning raw and fierce, as if flames licked at it from within, consuming him from the inside out.
The flames popped, licking the wood they were consuming, vanishing the memories it had once held.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans that had seen better days. His long hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, swayed gently with the breeze.
A single tear slipped from his eye, tracing a glistening mocking path down his cheek—the sole evidence for the turmoil that stirred beneath him.
The flames roared and pulsed with insatiable energy, their wild dance casting a flickering shadow that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the ocean’s tide. The wind whirled around him a restless spirit, playing with the grains of soft sand that cradled his feet. Everything around him thrummed with life, but within him lay a profound stillness, an echo of a soul that once lived. He felt as if he’d been dead for a while now, a ghost adrift in a world teeming with vitality, yet untouched by its warmth, by its life.
And then, he finally mustered the courage to meet the gaze of the flaming fire, watching the orange flames dancing underneath the moonlight glow, consuming his memories, reducing the fragments of his past to ashes as effortlessly as a feather caught in a gust of wind. At that moment, he realized that what once filled his dead heart with warmth was now becoming a pile of ashes that would soon be carried along with the wind. All of those cherished moments, the laughter, the joy, the melody, were nothing more than fuel for the ravenous flames, nothing more than fleeting whispers in the vastness of time.
Adrian cherished the warmth of the fire, a comforting embrace that felt so welcoming yet so misleading. In so many ways, the fire mirrored the ocean, though they both seemed so distinct. Both offered an inviting allure, nurturing life, and creating moments of beauty, yet, beneath theirenchanting, alluring surface, fatality was concealed. The flames danced with a mesmerizing grace while the waves whispered secrets of the deep, both capable of consuming the unwary in an instant, turning their beauty into a dangerous tempest.
The most exquisite things were often the deadliest, a truth Adrian knew all too well.
He felt that deeply, resonating within him, an ache that pulsed through his very being.
The deadly flames rolled over the nearly consumed wood, devouring what he had once held so dearly. He could still make the shape of the guitar, half from his mind and half from the burning wood as it coaxed it into nothingness. The flame licked the surface; the fire mirrored in his whisky-colored irises. The engraved words on the guitar began to curl and smolder, dissolving into ashes before his eyes.
To my lifesaver. The words read.
As he closed his eyes against the wave of pain, he felt a warm palm gently brush against his own, a soft connection that sent a shiver of solace through him. The smoothness of the skin lingered on his fingertips, a tender reminder of comfort in his sorrow. At that moment, more tears slipped silently down his cheeks, mingling with the warmth of the memory, each drop a testament to his grief and longing.
He lowered his gaze to the small rectangular album nestled in the soft sand, untouched since he had placed it there. It had stood as a silent witness while he drenched the guitar in oil, preparing to surrender it to the hungry flames. The album’s edges curled in the breeze, a stark reminder of the distant memories he was about to let go.
It was a daring move, yet Adrian felt compelled to glimpse the album one last time to see the memories reflected in his eyes—a solid, undeniable proof that he had not hallucinated it all. Somewhere, beyond his perception, those moments had existed, tangible in another universe. They were a testament to a happiness he had once known, a joy so profound it felt beyond recognition.
With a trembling hand, Adrian dared to flip through the pages, but the pain that accompanied this simple act surged like an unrelenting tide, threatening to overwhelm him. He found himself grappling with a hurt he knew he was too feeble to confront. In a moment of desperation, he hurled the small album into the fire, watching as the flames devour it, taking with it the remnants of a happiness he could no longer bear to face.
The flames flickered in his eyes, and though the pictures crumbled to ashes, he still saw the beautiful man with stormy gray eyes and sand-colored hair. He still heard the echoes of his laughter lingering in the air, accompanied by the warmth of his low voice calling Adrian’s name. Wiping away the tears that blurred his vision, Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white envelope, rolling it between his fingers as he gazed into the fire. He had read the letter inside countless times, the words etched in his mind, each line a haunting reminder of the same news that had led to the same fate.
The guitar and the album were long gone.
