She lay fully in his embrace—the slender arms of the past now made firm by the buffeting wind and waves; the sea had steeped its scent into his body. Intense. He pressed his lips, parched by the salty brine, against hers to let her soak them in. Slowly. His hands glided over her body like a stranger lost in the dark of night, groping for every step, letting touch and the remaining senses compensate for sight. Gently. His lips brushed over every fiber of flesh with long-stagnant sensuality. Moist. Under the coastal sun resting upon a white sandbank, a few light breezes drifted by.
All clothes stripped away. Naked. Amidst the white sand. He glided over her body under a sun that did not burn the skin; there was only the sound of the wind sweeping past, the murmur of the waves, and the scent of sweat mingling with the sea. Damp.
Lying beside him, she heard his breath gradually slowing, trying to catch a normal rhythm. That masculine breath made her yearn for passion once more, amidst the white sand, the pine hills, and the waves crashing against the shore.
…
“Do you still remember?” He looked at her with an infatuated gaze, filled with the tenderness of a dawn just awakening, while the flora still dreamt of early mist blending with the night wind. Passion. Just faded.
“Remember what, dear?” She looked at him with a yearning gaze, flecked with fragments of a broken love; how long had it been since she stopped saying she loved him, as she had for so many silent nights.
…
Truly, she had loved him for a very long time, from a moment she couldn't quite name. On some day in the past, she couldn't remember clearly, she only recalled there was a wind brushing through her hair. Flying. Careless.
A boy in a faded white shirt, eyes wide and curious, followed her step by step. He had heard people say—or perhaps he was just competing with his peers—to quickly find a girl with braided hair to court, to say a few words of love to.
She would just look and stay silent. Peculiar. Crazy.
That boy didn’t hide his crush in the pages of a notebook with verses like other foolish souls. Puberty. Practicing poetry. Confessing. A few teasing words in a cracking voice, playing pranks from the first period to the last. School’s out. Days passed by, watching dreams sink into the sea of memory.
…
That boy would stare blankly toward the sea where waves hit the shore, his hand constantly rubbing the back of his head, his feet kicking the sand. The distant waves surged with sea foam washing ashore, catching the flying sand. Sinking in silence. No teasing, no pranks, only sand flying toward the waves, the moon hanging over the sea. A secret smile.
She would just look and stay silent. Goofy. “Sick.”
Her heart was like the distant waves, surging every second through the vastness to reach the shore, after she received her university admission. The night sky seemed to brighten; the campus called out, a new love and faith rose and ebbed. She felt the distant waves whispering as if to congratulate her, yet that one confession of love went unanswered; there was only silence, looking toward the sea.
Sand flew up onto the waves and then vanished; the sand no longer flew. She pulled the boy down to sit and watch the distant ocean. The boy’s heart was unreadable; he only uttered a huff of resentment about something, but then sat beside her listening to the murmuring waves. That boy also left the village, left the pine rows, and ignored the whispering sea to follow her to a new, distant land. In those dreams, the distant sea no longer existed; she walked toward that future. Not alone.
She laughed; she didn't know why there were so many fools in this world. Coming to the boy now grown—he told her to call him "Anh" (Brother/Dear). Awkward. Stepping through student life from a small province to a lecture hall that wasn't too crowded, nor a rushed step.
Looking here and there. Looking up and back. She saw her own life was somewhat pitiful; while material things were always lacking, the love from a fool was the one thing never in short supply. Beginning. There were beautiful poems and words sent into the winds of love.
The boy of the past had grown; no more jokes, no more teasing. There was only a soul wandering somewhere, sending verse after verse filled with poetry, saturated with affection. Fear of love slipping away? Fear of losing a loved one? Those poignant verses were drenched in the thirst for a future to be built. All were words and scripts, penned by a poetic soul.
Many times. She asked if he loved too late, a romance arriving as slowly as a girl or boy going through puberty late? Different. He didn't speak, just looked at her as if choked up amidst city life, watching her change day by day, from her thoughts to her silhouette.
She understood those words, but she also knew those poetic feelings could not create money. Compensation. A mortal body still being tortured by vanity. Going mad. She wondered why the heart and the mind were always hovering in resentment, striking each other. Every time. Listening to those verses throughout university halls. Everything and everything filled the student years. Heart and mind. Striking and resenting.
Truly, she had loved him, she didn't know since when... On a day she laughed, saying she didn't know why there were so many fools in this world. Living a dream life with a love devoid of material interference. “Can we just eat dirt to live?” Hearing a girl speak like that, she found it both poignant and pitiful, both wrong and endearing. Everyday life. Reality turning into pragmatism. She wondered who she was to sit there judging pity and love.
Stepping out of the lecture hall with a baggage of love-words she had heard so often she forgot them. Since when. Love no longer belonged to the student practicing to be a poet under the trees by a ramshackle bicycle. A confession of love crossed with a bit of money saw cosmetics trample the soul. She felt her heart was no longer weak. Circumstances. Placed in context, she saw herself as pitiful. Entangled in love, it is a crime; a crime, yet it is love. The Self.
She said goodbye to the verses. Promising to meet again one day. In the middle of the night. Silence in not speaking, silence on the day of return, not a word of farewell. Only the verses remained, hidden in a drawer; she kept them as memories instead of a goodbye.
…
She returned to the sea with plenty of material wealth. The white sand was imprinted under the clear sea water under the moonlight, sparkling like crystal. A ship brought her back to the sea. In the middle of the night. Her footsteps sank lightly into the past; she saw the boy of the past now sitting there, letting cigarette smoke drift with the clouds. At a distance.
Knowing through friends. All those years. A sun-bronzed back, carrying no private love of his own. She just looked and fell silent. Shocked. Infatuated.
The boy of the past placed himself in a way of thinking about life. Peace. Resting his heart on the gentle ripples of a windless sky or burying his head against the hull when waves hit in a storm, not worrying much about where life would go if material things were insufficient, only feeling carefree amidst the wave-filled ocean.
Not like her. One husband, two children, a three-story house, a four-seat car. Plenty. Making many look on with desire, yet she alone was weary of endless days, returning at night to pillow her head with the night wind. Hovering. Incomplete sleep. Haunting. The times she crawled home, kneeling at the feet of the man called husband after being tossed into the street like a wounded animal, reminding herself that life needs self-respect.
Material things besieged her, time was traded, a self-made glory. Digging one's own grave. Hovering in incomplete sleep. Hungry for affection. Reminding herself that life needs self-respect. One last time. Money enough to buy a ship ticket. She returned to the sea.
…
There are things one never fully understands without the echo of the heart. “Do you still remember?” He looked at her with an infatuated gaze, filled with the tenderness of a dawn just awakening, while the flora still dreamt of early mist blending with the night wind. Passion. Just faded.
“Remember what, dear?” She looked at him with a yearning gaze, flecked with fragments of a broken love; how long had it been since she stopped saying she loved him for so many silent nights.
“The day you returned to the sea, you didn't say a word of farewell!” He pulled her head into his chest, his eyes looking toward the surging ocean. She bowed her head slightly. Hearing his heart throb. The ocean surged. Whispering. “Why did you return to the open sea without a word of farewell?”
He kissed her forehead gently, speaking amidst the rising tide, seagulls circling from somewhere. Sunlight was reborn in a new day. He said: “Because I needed to see you love life again.”
