I watch the smoke rise from my lips, nose numb as I brave against the cold, my hands deep in the safe cocoon of my pockets. I’ve been sitting on the balcony of my hotel room for five hours, my tears finally having stopped. The cold finally caused my tear ducts to harden, solidifying my liquid sadness.
I looked out over the moving tides, the sand barren of people, even barren of gulls. Barren like my room and bed sheets. The only thing full is my hand, the metal warmed in my palm. I keep telling myself to throw it over the railing, let it fall into the sand, get pulled out by the tide. But my arm can’t seem to move.
I want to leave this behind. Leave the unanswered question. The unshared feelings. I want to forget the look on her face when I asked. The fear in her eyes as she backed away, leaving the door open behind her.