Talia, p. 95

The salt air brushes against my face and I’m reminded of that day years ago.  We hadn’t spoken.  I don’t even think he knew I had come to the docks.  Arrangements had been made, passage paid for and silences bought.  She thought I might want to say a farewell, but how could I?  After all that had been done, after all that had been lost.  I no longer knew who he was.  And yet I still found myself standing there on the cold morning air, waiting, watching.  They finished loading, ropes were cast off, and the ship slowly began to drift.  Only then did he step to the rail to look out over all he had left behind.  Was it sadness I saw, or anger?  Regret and disappointment over what might have been?

I stepped from the shadows and pulled back the hood of my cloak.  I know he saw me then, for his face did change to surprise.  He started, and moved along the rail as if he could cross the distance, the gulf that had opened between us.  At the edge he stretched out his hand, pleading.  I shook my head and that was the last I ever saw of him, for I had turned my back and walked away.  Tears dried on my cheeks leaving a salt that had nothing to do with the sea.

Since then I have found the sea to be a lonely place.  Why I tried to seek him out after all these years I do not know.  There was a trail, for a time, and I clung to that false hope.  But it ended too. A vessel set out to chart the western seas… no port of any size had record of it returning.  He is truly lost.


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