Watchtower at the beach

The night began with her missing. White cowboy boots, blood and blues music followed by a great success at billiards and a strawberry flavored tipple. I turned to the past, the place I escaped from over a year ago. Old faces… Old faces that looked new but didn’t leave the dry taste of an awkward silence or a mundane conversation lingering in the air like stale smoke.

Two friends departed, this new place deserted and unwelcome. The old place beckoning us to be closer. Awash with negativity, bad attitudes falling out of every pocket and the sadness from a spectators position below me. All of this was below me.

These people continue to live by a schedule that I broke away from. Promises and reliability are not always good for a person, especially me. Clayton and I shared the same opinion and one and a half hours in was too much for the poor fellow. Clayton returned to his boat. Left alone, standing at the foot of the watchtower of faces, I ate some dry crackers and shivered my bones until I became numb with cold.

In a perspective of melancholy, it was nonetheless a sight to behold; The landscape before me, rich with deep blues and ink black. Silence, save for a distant rumbling of the ocean pounding the shorelines and a brilliant white dripping from the full moon above, puncturing a hole in the night sky and falling onto the white sand like a stage in some underground, smoky Jazz bar. Water washed inwards in the darkness over time.

I stayed sitting there for two hours thinking about every person I knew, wanting to share the moment with anybody who could spare a moment, yet, selfishly keeping it to myself. After all, they had a habit of taking away all of the beauty in everything.

A sense of presence snapped back into me, I had to leave. I didn’t live here anymore and I certainly didn’t want to get stranded here. I sent my farewell out against the approaching waves and turned my back.