A young man was sitting on the edge of a fenced cliff, basking in the view of the golden hour that laid before him. He watched silently, breathing in slowly as he gazed on the natural phenomenon. The solitude was all too familiar to him; a feeling he had felt for many years now. Sure, he would hear faint whispers of people reaching out, but it was never really for him. It was the idea of him that mattered. He touched the grass he sat on, rubbing his palm through it. He heard the rustling, the gentle but noticeable sound that he made. He threw out a deep sigh afterwards, laying his head down. Shortly after, another man, much older than the other, came up to him, slowly approaching the young man.
"H-Hey," the man who approached said, rubbing his head awkwardly. But the young man gave him silence. Wanting to break the ice, the man came closer, but not too close.
"So... How are you? I haven't heard from you in years."
The young man sighed once more. Giving his visitor a cold look, he responded silently.
"I'm fine."
"May I sit?" The man asked, pointing at the open grass next to the young man.
"Sure."
The man crossed his legs, sitting next to the young man. He leaned slightly backward, his hands supporting his weight as he stretched his back. With the breeze calmly blowing at them as the sun descended into the horizon, both of them were silent. The man wanted very much to speak, but he couldn't find the words to say anything. The young man continued to stare at the horizon, as he did before. He ignored the visitor, but he could still feel the longing for them to talk. All he did was to wait for the right moment to speak. But there was no right moment to speak for him.
"None of our old friends could get in touch with you," The man said.
"I didn't feel the need to talk."
"What about the homecoming party? You weren't there either."
"What was I supposed to do? You know I don't like parties."
"But you used to have so much fun in them."
The young man grunted, rubbing his forehead with his index finger and thumb. He didn't know why this man was here, why he came to this remote place. The cliff was far from any civilization. It was calm, yet seeing the sea below could make anyone feel the tension he felt. He thought he'd be alone, but with the presence of this man next to him, it'd been long wrong by then.
"Why did you come back? Aren't you happy with your life?" The young man said.
"What makes you say that?"
"I saw it all. When we graduated, we never talked again. When you got married, you invited everyone but me. When you had kids, everyone was there in the christening. Everyone but me."
"You know why."
The young man stood up slowly, grunting as he did so. He walked and leaned at the fence of the cliff, looking at the man with a disgruntled look. He reminisced on the times he and the man had spent together, the memories that made him who he was. They served as the chains that kept him here. He couldn't leave. His sorrow of him leaving was too much for him.
"You wanted peace? You can have it."
"But are you happy like this?"
"I'm willing to make the sacrifice. If it means that you enjoy life."
"Look, I'm sorry about all that, ok? I just wanted to find happiness."
"And that's exactly why I have to stay here. You can leave without any regrets. It's been so long already. I expected you to have let go already."
"Yeah..."
The man walked back as the sun had finally set and dusk had arisen. He went back to his car, which he used to get to the cliff. He grabbed a bouquet of flowers and walked back to the cliff. He knelt down and, with a tear in his eye, placed it on the gravestone near the edge of the cliff. The man sighed, looking up to see the moon and the young man.
"I never wanted you to die like that," He said.
"Hey," the young man said, "At least you can move on now. Without me. I chose to stay here. You chose a different path. Never regret that."
At that moment, the young man disappeared. It was a hallucination conjured up by the man's mind, but it was so vivid to him. He felt every sensation, every physical movement that it made, and the face it showed. He kept those to memory as he mourned the death of that young man. He was the man that he called his friend. Now, that man was gone by his own hand, and he couldn't do anything about that.
