Sarah stared into the night, fixated on distant lore.
The tumultuous roar of the ocean rang in her ears; waves barreling, breaking; the cry of a lone seagull tore through her. She closed her eyes - the sun glinted, sparkled across the surface of the water - a billion bubbles huddled and foamed on the shoreline; reflecting the cosmos that lit up the sky.
Nature's symphony; their own private orchestra as they frolicked amongst the dunes. She remembered it all... warm bronze bodies, wet and glistening in the moonlight; cold white sand offering gentle respite from the heat of the day. Love's passion burned brightly at seventeen.
She shifted her distant gaze to the beautiful spiral conch, bleached white on bygone shores; a token of his love. Her eyes transfixed momentarily on her translucent skin, mottled with age, scattered with wrinkled lines; a lifetime ensconced in the warmth of her hands. After all these years, the distant memories still swept her away.
She dug deeper.
They fell to the ground, their bodies writhing with laughter. Seizing the moment, on bended knee, he professed his love more earnestly. For many years, they danced around each other in joy. A white lace bodice, black bow tie, and matching gold rings. Three children and a dog or five later.
It had been the very best thing to be alive with him.
Italy in the summers, Germany in the Fall - the Rhineland was surprisingly romantic at that time of year. By New Year, always cosied up around the fire in a little cabin in the Alps, and then Spring would bring the daisies and the tree pollen... and they would suffer in beautiful silence together.
The distant past. It had a way of tugging at the heartstrings.
She had come to sit with him every Sunday for the past five years. Those five years had felt longer than the entire sixty-eight they had shared together. The church bells chimed - indicating the passing of the hours. But now... time no longer had a hold on her.
Are you ready, yet?
His voice was gentle. Strong. Just as she remembered it. She felt his hand slip into hers, and the quiet tug. He had always led so tenderly; she had always followed so willingly. The distance between them was forever closed. Eternity beckoned on distant shores. She turned to look into his face once more, his boyish grin turned up at the edges, just as she remembered it. Her seventeen-year-old self beamed back, reflected in the twinkling of his eyes.
She stood and yanked him to his feet.
I am.
This is my free write piece for the dreem-wotw contest writing to the prompt: distant.
Header image Spooky old graveyard by Egal from Canva pro library
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