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When a person lacks the ability to grasp a life-altering situation, they reflect deeply in order to understand what they've been through, as if living through the experience twice, thrice, or however many times needed to face reality.
You had to look reality right in its soulless eyes when she looked back up at you through lids sealed shut by the first notes of death.
Even with her life hidden behind a drawn curtain—one she'd made sure was a velvet fabric of emerald green—you sat still in that one-man audience, projecting every scene the two of you had written together on repeat with your own, all-seeing eyes.
You could admire her life as though she were still living, going through the days she thought she would have more of. The days you never expected would come to a halt, just like that.
Now, you're living those same days as if they aren't already in the past and more than tired of being recalled.
She was beautiful in those days. A woman filled with so much love that it basically spilled out of her, reaching every soul she could, no matter the distance.
That's why losing a woman such as herself could kill millions in one single moment. You know that to be true, for she killed you even as she gave you life.
If only you could go back to a time before now, before you lost both her and yourself.
But not too far. Not before you found someone you love too dearly to lose as well.
Dusk was on the verge of replacing day, banishing the light with each passing moment as the sun began to fall over the vast and still ocean. In spite of the hour being as late as it was, you tore off your sandals, dropping them below the wooden steps, ready to face the cool waters. The chilled sand shifted with every step you took as you started for the shore, pushing against the harsh breeze.
With the thinning rays highlighting every wave and the arrival of the moon drawing them nearer, you couldn't help but do the same, like a moth to a flame.
However, the burning light disappeared suddenly in the center of your vision, several moments too early, as if someone were standing in the beam of a projector, blocking the image from reaching the white sheet.
Curious, you took a step closer, and closer, and closer, until you could finally make out the silhouette before you: a guy of good stature, carrying a surfboard against his ribs. The sight was overwhelming, to say the least, like simply looking at him would be more than enough to steal the air from your lungs.
