The sun hung low in the air like a half drawn blind in the sitting room of this shore. I nearly forgot if it was rising or setting - the days and its dichotomy of light have blended into grey. Warm sand between my toes as the ocean salt wiped my face with its freshness. A memory hidden in the sound of surf arose like a rock in retreating tides. It was the smell of oranges, a floral dress, and the way she did her hair. All gone now, to charity shops and old friends. Bankers and business men.
I stood, relieving my backside from the worn seat of sand beneath me, my spine creaked into life.
Watching the ocean and its many leagues of mystery throw itself on the rocks I thought about our marriage, her lunging herself into a husband who was, then, as sharp and scuffed as those very same rocks. It takes time to smooth the heart of a man, but if patient enough, she'd hoped to find me sinking to the depths of her.
A flash of light winced around the frame of my eyeglasses. A signal. I turned, in my mind seeking a curl of chestnut hair and sunlight through an angel’s wing.
I saw only the sun. I spent so long not being able to see what was right in front of my nose, why would now be able different?
Rocks don't just fall into the sea. She draws them kindly in, inch by inch, and before he knows it, there's fish making him their home.