I can’t breathe. I’ve stepped back into an ocean I haven’t been in months. I forgot how deep it is.
I look back to the shore and he looks so lonely, standing there with the waters brushing the surface and no ones feet to catch it with him. I can’t do this. How do I do this? I could swim back, pretend like it was all just a big practical joke and stay. No, that’s lying. No. Maybe not lying, but that’s why I’m back in this ocean. It feels so vast and lonely. I want it to tell me if I should swim back. I want it to make me happy or make me miserable. Then I’d know, but the waters aren’t moving. There are no fish about this early so I have to wait. I hate this. Hate waiting. Hate his tears. Hate his pain. Hate myself for causing that pain. Hate all of it. I wish he understood why I’m back in this ocean, that he could comprehend everything I told and retold him on the shore and realize this will be the best for us both in the end.