Driftwood

He always came to this place when he missed her the most. At those times when going on without her simply wasn't an option. Those times when it was the darkest. The few times he hadn't gone, they weren't good times. The last time, when he found himself staring down the barrel of his pistol, was simply too much. He had set the gun down and just got in his car and drove.

That was how he ended up here. In the world's graveyard. He ached so much, missing a love lost, a life never-known. The regret had filled his days with melancholy and depression. His world had become dark and dreary. He longed for the release of the next life. A chance to start over, to heal. 

The beach, where he sat, reminded him of himself. Memories, happiness, love, family, friends - they were all pieces of driftwood in his mind. They always washed ashore. But sitting here, on this beach, it seemed as if he could finally let these memories go. If only for a short time.

He had been here many times before he broke down, before the turmoil inside finally broke free. On that day, the rain had fallen, cold and stinging with spray from the ocean. He couldn't help himself and had wept until there was nothing left. 


After that, he just kept coming back to the same place every time the world just got to be too much. And that got to be happening more and more as the years went by. He looked down at his wrinkled, callused hands. He had been coming here a long time. He never stopped wondering if she missed him. He never stopped thinking about her.


Even here, she crept into his thoughts. Once that wouldn't have been the case. He found peace in this graveyard. But his heart was so heavy with the loss, he simply couldn't keep her out anymore. He never could. That was why he ended up here, alone, miserable. 

He couldn't have the life with her he desired, and so he ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could. He reached the end of his world, and decided to hide there. It broke his soul to leave her that way, but it was the only way he knew. It was the only way he knew. 

He knew that he didn't have much left in this world. He had left the desire to end his life long ago, but now in his old age, he once again prayed for the journey to be over. He was tired of living this life, he was tired of loving, but being alone. He was ready to lay down. 

He bowed his head, and closed his eyes. He didn't see as well as he used to anyways. He listened to the waves crash onto the beach. It wasn't turbulent, but the steady ebb and flow of life. He felt his breathing slow to match the lap of the waves. He felt in tune with nature. He wondered if she thought about him. 


He had no idea how long the tears had flown, decades now. Leaving had been the only thing he could, but it had been his death sentence. He couldn't ever forget her, and had spent his life in a shadow world. Existing without existing.

He felt himself drifting off to sleep. It was dangerous he knew, the tide was coming in, and it was freezing cold. At his age, he knew that he wouldn't survive, yet he couldn't seem to stop it. "This is it," he realized. This was the moment of his death. 


But he didn't see his life flashing before his eyes, he saw no shining, guiding light. He heard no angelic voices nor did he smell brimstone or feel heat. Instead he saw the same thing he always did. He saw her smiling face, and the glow in her golden eyes, that special look she had just for him. 


It was time to go home.