A Series of Observations

The woman sat on the rocks alone, the sea breeze flowing wisps of her hair towards the ships that were currently sailing away. She had missed them by moments and although she never intended to go with them, she felt her entire soul leave with the ships.

Her skirts were crumpled and dirtied at the hem, her run to the shore taken in the dark, efforts to beat the rising sun evident with every ruined fiber. She sighed, and the sound was drowned by a crashing wave, its persistent renewal the only lifeline she had left to her body.

The ships had almost reached the horizon, she could barely see them now. Resting along the raged spines of the rocks that lined the cove, she felt the crumple of paper under her resting hand. The soft paper was creased in the unforgiving ways her hands had held it, yet it survived this. Her only notice of when and where to be, but she was too late regardless of her determination.

She sat in a small bed of sand that had found its home between rocks, and within it sat small box. She still held the letter with one hand, the box rested in another, and her heart flared as the brilliant light of the morning sun rose.

The man stared back at the shore, already longing for its steady embrace, its vast emptiness mirroring that of his heart.

Despite the heat of the morning he stayed where he was, the sea breeze had yet to penetrate its suffocating wall, the ends of his hair curling with humid rebellion. He had left a piece of himself on the land he was leaving, and he prayed that it would stay safe.

It would be months now until their return, months until his questions were answered. It had only been moments since they left, and already he found himself wondering how quickly he could swim to shore with the restless currents surrounding him.

The woman stared at the box left behind long enough for her to feel salt at her lips, gentle splashes of saltwater finding her as the tides changed and crashed against her haven. She placed the letter in her pocket but had yet to find the courage to open the box. With defeat she returned home, keeping the letter and the box close by, the box still not opened even a week after the ships had left.

The man’s beard had grown long in the time away, his skin flush with a glow given by many hours in the sun. His work was fruitful, his efforts routinely congratulated, but his heart consistently found itself looking in the opposite direction, towards a place he would not return to for some time yet.

At each port, he hoped for a letter, any word to keep his memories alive. One that never came, but he sent every letter he had written regardless.

The woman had felt a great sadness she could not release. There was a pressure building inside her that would not find relief until much more time had passed. The small gift had sat on her table next to her bed for an entire week, mocking her, scolding her, beckoning her to relieve her curiosity.

Her life remained the same monotonous routine it always had, with very little improvement until the letters began to arrive. Piles of them were delivered to her, labeled every single day since the ships had left. She savored one each morning and each night, their words fueling her forward in ways she had not been in ages. The words had given her the courage to open the box.  

More months had passed, and the man worried he would not be recognized when he returned, as his body had changed to resemble that of a true man, a man he never thought he’d be. He had gathered all that was required of him, and much more to give away upon return, and with his efforts completed, his final letters sent, he would return home.

It had been nearing an entire year now, and the woman ached with so many unfiltered emotions. She had awoken early, prepared all that could be done, as today the ships would return, finally.

The small box remained in her pocket; the final letters read this morning over tea. She could wait no longer. The clock chimed, and its song gave her way to race from the house, feet carrying her with far more spirit than it had the day the ships left. This time she would not be late.

Again her hem found its way to ruin, shoes rubbing the sensitive flesh of her toes, but she could not hear the complaints of her body over the howling of her heart as it returned to her.

The port was busy at all hours, and her finery separated her from the many that were around her. Her hair was wild as the sea itself, as she preferred it, and her blue dress complimented her features. It was a color she was particularly fond of, and a color he had always said he loved.

The woman’s heart raced higher with her continuous chase towards the shore, and on the horizon, she saw the ships return.

The man stared at the incoming port, admittedly feeling a thrill of energy within himself. His calloused hands smoothed his hair and clothes again, a ritual he was finding himself repeating. His love for the sea would never match the love he had left safely on the shore, and he hoped to find it there safely still.

He helped the other men with ropes and finishing duties, but with each breath that brought him closer to the shore, his heart and mind continued to pull him away as it had with every moment at sea.

The woman scoured the growing crowd, her small frame being devoured by those much taller, but when the ships fully docked and lowered their planks, she was ready.

The man was one of the last to leave the ship, accounting for everything that he had brought with him and was still in charge of caring for and found relief at the completion of his duties.

When he stood at the edge of the ship, one step away from the land he craved, he took a deep breath and hardly an instant had passed before his gaze found hers.

Her smile was heartachingly beautiful, her hair much longer and wilder than when he had left. She waved her hand high to him and beamed brighter than any ray of sun or star he looked to in his absence.

The woman took a full breath, the first in many months, and ran to him, their impatience clear with every eager step. Finding each other again was inevitable, even the months on land and sea would not tame that instinct.

A few more short steps brought her to him, and his arms were prepared for her return, their souls once again complete. Their embrace was long designed, formulated in dreams and memories and wishes. They took their time, as now they had much more of it, but they parted only long enough to take each other in and the many changes the months had bestowed upon them.

The man escorted the woman from the crowd to their favorite place on the shore, their first private moment since long ago.

She was everything to him, her very existence the promise of eternal blessings and the comfort of a home.

He was everything to her, a guarantee of freedom and adventure, and the ever-growing excitement of a future she looked forward to sharing.

He stood before her and asked if she had found what he had left behind. Reaching to her pocket she retrieved the small box that had never left her side. He took it from her and opened it, its contents remained in perfect condition, and he took it from its velvety casing.

He held her hands and looked into her vibrant eyes, their questions always finding answers in the other even without words. His letters had led the way for her heart and mind to come together. The possibility of her waiting for him on the shore as she had today the only motivation the man needed to continue his journey.

There was nothing more either of them needed to say, nothing they would say to ruin the moment he finally placed the ring on the woman’s fingers.

Nothing except, yes.