She sits on the wall next to the raging ocean. For a moment she stares at the ocean, the waves slapping against the same wall. Within minutes, she turns away and ignores the call of the water. Jacket off, she slouches forward, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her hazel eyes are empty as she averts them from passers by. It doesn’t matter; no one wants to make eye contact. She exudes sorrow. Despair, even. People walk past her hurriedly as if she could contagious.
It doesn’t bother her. Nothing does anymore. It seems trivial to worry about things like this.
She watches the wild seas again wondering what it must be like in there. She pictures herself walking in. Further and further until she is nothing but a speck on the horizon. Of course, she could never do that. Not after she knows the pain it causes. Because no one talks about the ones left behind. The pain they — people like her — face. She couldn’t do that to her children.
From the depths of her jacket, she pulls out a flower. The once yellow flower is now withered and old. But she preserves it. Holds on to it. It’s all she has.
It’s been five years. Five years since the man she loved walked into the ocean never to return again. Five years on, her face is etched with worried lines. Five years on, she has aged almost a decade. Friends have gone, family is holding on. But truth be told, they lost her when she lost everything.
Without wading in, she too has been lost at sea.
(c) Sanch Vee @ Sanch Writes (3 May 2016)
***Linking with Jess for IBOT***