The uneasy sea reflects a brooding gray sky. It was nothing like last time. Last time the sea had rolled lazily beneath us, drenched in golden sunshine. Now the waves threw themselves against the rocks, angry and uncertain.
We stood above the sea, atop a rock-faced cliff that appeared to be the edge of the known world. I look down at the grass beneath my boots-- it had always shocked me how green it was here. We had sat on this emerald carpet once, careless and content--looking out at the empty horizon that had then seemed full of promise. It was here he had almost tried to kiss me. It was here that I had almost let him.
A frigid wind bites into me, forcing me from my reverie. He stands beside me, staunchly looking out to sea to ensure our eyes don't meet. I know I need to speak, but what words are there left to be said?
"I never meant for any of this to happen," I say meekly. It's such a flimsy excuse but there are no words that could ever suffice to ease his pain. "You know that," I say, pleading now. "I didn't ask for any of this, I didn't /want/ any of this." I wish I could apologize but it wouldn't mean anything, not now.
He exhales and shifts his weight, his hazel eyes deep in contemplation. Those eyes had once shone with life and love, but now they had the dull glossy look of those who had lost too much. I study the curves of his face, the way his auburn hair ripples in the bitter wind. I commit it all to memory, so that when I am gone I can still remember him.
"I never asked for this either," he whispers so I can just barely hear. I don't know if he's talking to himself or to me. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, and for a moment I wonder if he's thinking about stepping over the edge. I expect him to speak with malice, but instead his voice just sounds hollow. "We were happy here, and /you/ brought this upon us. You brought this suffering here." His accent makes his voice flow like music, even now as my heart breaks. I want to remember how lyrical his words come out.
I look back down at my feet, with no response worth uttering. He is right of course, there was no one to blame but myself. I think about how we had sat here so long ago, talking and laughing as if we were in a dream. Maybe it was a dream, it certainly didn't seem real now. I had been exposed to the horrors of this galaxy since a young age, but it had broke him when he saw the reality of this life. I had been enduring it long enough to accept it, but it had taken something from him. He looked older now.
It is my fault. It is my fault that everything he had known had been burned to the ground, and my fault that everyone he had loved was now dead. He had loved me too, but I was worse than dead to him now.
"I wish I would've told you sooner," I say. Then, finally, his eyes eyes meet mine. He knows what I want to say, but he also knows I never will. "Maybe it would have changed things."
I turn my back, without taking a final look at him or the sea that stretches endlessly in front of him. I almost want to turn around, to look at him and that place one more time. But I know what I see will only bring me more pain. There is no reason to take another look at the man I destroyed. So I leave him, descending down the grassy slope as the wind howls at my back. This is the punishment, I tell myself, for ever forgetting that I must choose peace over emotion.
