The Cliffs

The best view was on that cliff in between the trees, where you could feel the mist of the sea landing on your hair and soaking into your skin.

We’d sit there for hours, he and I, just watching the white foam waves beat against the rocks. Sometimes I close my eyes and I can still hear them. Can still feel him sitting right there next to me, his knee casually touching mine.

There was something magical about that place, and maybe that was part of the reason that whole summer felt like a dream. We weren’t there alone, but we might as well have been. With walks that went on for miles, and hidden spots that concealed us from everyone.

We didn’t mean to be a secret, yet somehow we became one. What we’d found felt so different and sacred, we were afraid to let anyone in.

But as I remember it now, I can’t help but think that maybe we should have. Maybe if we’d tried to weave our lives together, however messy the attempt might have been, we wouldn’t have fizzled out so quickly and broken away so cleanly. Maybe he would have known a part of me that I couldn’t share in the sleepy mornings over those secluded cliffs. And maybe my memory of his voice would be louder than the sound of the waves.

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