It was mid-November. I walked down the path way to the sea grass slowly. It was to dark to see exactly where I was going. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off the sweat pants and jacket I was wearing. I had kept on the old running shorts and your t-shirt all day. I left my things in a jumbled pile along the fence near the entrance. I remember how the waves crashed against the jedi. I wasn't nervous or jumpy, being out there all alone was comforting actually. I walked to the edge of the water and let it run across my toes. I turned to see the street lights flickering above the bridge. I ran up and down the beach a few times. Sprinted so fast I couldn't gasp the air in fast enough when I stopped. I held my stomach and laid in the sand. I could feel small rocks stabbing into my spine. But the pain was almost relieving. It reminded me that I was the one that felt pain, I was the one that was alive.
The next February I was there. No longer alone though. I held my hands together and let the songs play randomly out of the headphones rapped around my neck. I was holding tight to the memory of you. I was so happy to be alive then. Everything was near perfect again. I was in love and my family was slowly making its way back together. There were new babies and laughter in our homes. Christmas had come and gone as it always does, with no lasting memories in-between. I knew now that crying was excepted and there was someone I had behind me. I knew I would never have to be alone again. We walked hand in hand down the beach smiling and whispering to each other. I was happy, I was so happy.
This late day of July, when I walked along the beach, it seemed the same. Everything was where it's always been. Nothing seemed out of place. You were gone, and I was alone once again. But I know that every time I walk through the broken shells and sand I'll remember that one day in mid-November when I was the one, that was alive.