Alone Again

A sort of sequel to "Our Last Night"

             From high atop a beach front balcony to a ritzy hotel room, he stood, tearing a handwritten note into individual bits of paper and watched a wind as bitter as him whisk them away never to be seen again. He whittled the full page note down to one last piece; the word “bye” was the last legible word of the note, and without a seconds notice the wind ripped it from his finger and sailed it towards a seemingly applauding ocean. He leaned with his forearms against the rail and took a deep breath of the cleanest air his lungs have seen in quite a while. He was used to the high smog of the large cities and the airports his job circulated him through. The same job he fell madly in love with not too long ago. The very same job that caused him to receive the letter he so sorrowfully just eviscerated. He almost felt lied to, and not by the job for its promises of seeing new sights and cities he’s never seen before, but by the world for making it seem that money and “success” brought along happiness. He has realized, however, money means nothing if you have no one there to share it with nor if you could barely spend it on yourself and that success was the most subjective term in the adult vernacular. What good was having people tell him he was successful when he did not feel it?

 

His loosened tie whipped violently to the side as if the wind was trying to send him off the balcony as well. Turning around and walking slowly passed the open briefcase laying on the bed which up until recently hid the source of his sorrow, he ripped off his tie and flung it behind him, only for it to get sucked up and out of the room by the wind.  The tie flew violently around in the torrential wind. Faultlessly it met its end being torn apart by the wheels of the flow of vehicles traveling the scenic highway below.  Dragging his fingertips along the furniture and the doorway as he passed, he entered the living room. There, a couch and a half empty bottle of Riesling awaited to comfort him. It was such a beautiful room. His rogue imagination drew a picture of the size of her smile upon seeing such a magnificent sight.

This was supposed to be it. This was going to be his recompense for being so absent in the life of the one he loved. The only woman he wanted. The woman he felt he needed for a return to the life he so regretfully left. Regret. It was a sentiment he had never encountered so strongly before this. The target of his regret was becoming more and more obscured. Was it his devout commitment to a job that has cost him so much? Or was it his willingness to give someone a second chance. Someone he so hopelessly loved. Someone he so recklessly let back into his life even after having broken his heart before.

He collapsed onto the leather couch, his eyes fell level to an extravagant ring sitting on the adjacent coffee table. The symbolism behind the ring and its everlasting love have never cut so deep. It was hers. He was to never see the look of surprise, delight and love which he had planned on seeing when giving it to her. Instead the ring just lay there. Fingerless. Emotionless. Lifeless. Looking just past the ring and beyond the patio he saw their beach. The waves beat relentlessly on the shore. He lay there on the couch growing more and more jealous of the waters ability to erase past marks and imprints made by those so carelessly passing by, leaving deep imprints in their wake. Luckily enough for the sand, the waters came and erased all evidence of their being there. He raised his bottle of Riesling. He had found his ocean waters.