He sits on the beach. Looking out at the waves. Admiring the beauty of water. There’s something mesmerizing about the way it moves, he thinks. Water is not a rigid thing. It does not get stuck as easily as others. It simply takes a new shape and moves on.
…moving on….
He is reminded of the past again. Of someone he loves. Of someone he hurt. Of someone who continues to hurt. Of someone who can’t not be hurt. And so, he too hurts.
He could blame the empty blackness. It is always so easy to blame, he thinks, to simply point a finger and condemn a culprit, but he never feels like he should. It feels to him like hiding behind the guillotine while the murderer stands in the crowd.
He looks down to his left, and a different kind of blackness looks back at him, though it is the same in its meaning. He ponders the blackness for a moment, before putting a hand on its shoulder. The blackness does not respond at first, but after a moment tilts its head down a bit. He understands what this means. It brings warmth to his heart. He wonders if this blackness could’ve found another like him, or if they were destined for each other. Regardless, he feels great joy that they now sit here together.