The Ocean and Eli

On weekends neither of us, Eli nor myself, had to work, we would travel to the beach in Washington. It was my favorite place in the world, my only reprieve from the voices of the dead and dying. The gentle roar and the placid gray of the ocean on a cloudy day was my favorite part of it. The giant kelp, the aquatic skyscrapers, graced our feet as we dangled them off of our rock.
I watched Eli’s face as we watched the steady tide come in. He was very much like the ocean I so adored. His eyes were blue and unfathomable as the water on a clear day. He even smelled salty and clean as sea spray. But it was his personality that was the ocean on a day like that one. He was constant like the tide, unrelenting as the waves and calm as the tepid color reflected from the clouds.
His feet swayed in the surf, his face leaned into the white foam as it dashed itself against the rocks and sprung up into the air.
He turned, saw me watching him, and gave me a rip-tide smile. It was his smile that made him so handsome. It was the only part about him that was easy, the only part that came without warning and dashed my spirit up into laughter almost every time.
“What’s so funny?” He said, teasingly offended.
“Nothing.” I chuckled. “Nothing at all.”