My story begins at night; how most stories start. The dusk had already carried itself across the sky and settled in the West. The sea shown brilliantly as the last streaks of sunlight glimmered and glanced off the water. The stars, one by one, emerged from the sky’s thick covering of deep blue fabric. Finally, the evening star appeared, revealing itself among its lesser siblings and inferior cousins. The sand on which I stood was still warm on my feet and charged with the energy from the day. For a while I just stood and stared out into the abyss of ocean, fathoming what might lie leagues beneath those peaks and troughs. My life, with its tumbles and turns, its cold twists of fate and warm fits of passion, faded away and all that was left was me and the sea.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I recognized the touch immediately and tears came to my eyes, stinging them with fresh pain; but suddenly, the same hand that was on my shoulder moments ago moved in a swiping motion across my cheek, taking the tears away with it. I shook my head and dared not look into the face that is so haunting, so cold, yet so enchanting and terrible. It is my only refuge, yet it is the one thing I run from. Fear takes hold of me of what I have done and I fall back onto the ivory sand. Sitting in my own shame, I whisper a feeble, useless apology. Apparently, it was enough for him. He tilts my chin toward him and looks deep within my eyes. All I see are two virescent eyes and lips whispering acceptance. I feel those lips kissing my forehead and, for once in my life, I feel whole. For once in my life, it’s all I can do to remember what made me run in the first place.