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By Kelly Bennett Seiler
Available from Infinite Words
Sometimes, when the sun begins to peek over the horizon, the seagulls circle the water in search of their first meal of the day, and the tide rushes up and then slows down so as to tickle my toes, I can hear your voice. As I close my eyes and feel the salt breeze across my face, as gentle as one of your kisses, and bury my fingers deep in the sand, just the way I used to do into your thick, black curls, I feel you next to me.
“What are you doing?” you ask me.
“Missing you,” I reply.
“But I’m right here,” you say.
“You’re not here for me to touch. You’re not here for me to hold.”
“I’m here in all the ways that matter. In your mind. In your heart. In your soul.”
“I want you in my arms,” I say, the saline from my tears becoming indistinguishable from the salt of the water, both burning my windblown face.
“You had me in your arms,” you tell me, gently. “Remember?”
I do remember. I remember every touch. Every kiss. Every secret glance we shared. The ones I’d forced myself to remember, knowing that someday, the memories of them would be all I had left.
‘It’s not enough.” I cry softly. “We were supposed to have a life together.”
“We did have a life together,” you whisper. “Mine.”
“It was too short.”
“It was all I had to give you,” you remind me gently.
“I wanted more,” I say, the words barely passing my lips.
“So, did I, my love. So did I.”
I lie back, my head resting on the soft, damp sand. I hear a foghorn in the distance and momentarily wonder if the captain of that boat has ever felt such pain. Did he plan a future with someone, only to realize his future would be spent alone? Did he wonder, as I do now, how things could go so wrong when, for a brief moment, they seemed so perfect?
“There’s so much I want to talk to you about. So much I want to ask,” I tell you.
“You can ask me one question. That’s all. I can’t answer any more,” you say.
“Just one? What if that question leads to more?” I ask.
“Only one, so make it a good one,” you say and then chuckle. “I know this is hard for you. You never were good at making decisions.”
“I chose you,” I tease. “I made a good one there.”
“Touché,” you say.
I hear you lie down next to me, feel the heat of your body on my side.
“One question,” you remind me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I tell you. “I know what it is.”
And, I do know. It’s the one question I’ve held on the edge of my tongue for what seemed like forever. It wasn’t if I’d been loved. I knew I had been. Completely and utterly. It wasn’t “Why?” Some questions would never produce a satisfying answer, so there was no point in asking.
Delicately and carefully, I form the words. The ones I’ve wanted to say aloud, but never had the courage. The question I have craved an answer for and never thought I’d get.
I make my request, very softly, my question lingering in the air. I hear your deep sigh. Was it one of regret? Was it sadness?
This time, I say it more clearly. More certain than ever this is the one question I need answered.