alexandrianshipping where Jasmine is crying pls (ilysm 💘)
tides - 450 wordsalexandrianshipping / romancenote/reply: I am FEELING the Pain. as asked Stella.
She stares as the water curls back onto the sand. Repeat. The waves return to the land. Repeat. Small gusts brush against the seams of her skirt, and her thin brown hair drifts above her shoulders. She thinks, what has she got to lose? The millions of beige Tuscan grains beneath her dainty sandals manage to sneak between her toes. She wriggles her pale ankles while she moves closer to the deep blankets of water and until it sweeps across her feet over and over.
Her fist rises and rests against her chest, she should go. She knows he’s out there somewhere, but she’s not sure if she should look for him. They tell her he went missing. They tell her he won’t come back. And it isn’t that he doesn’t want to, it is because he cannot. He physically cannot come back to her, he physically cannot come back to them, and she cannot change that. She does not know where he is, she cannot possibly know where he is.
The oceans carry him wherever, it is something he never decides. His body shifts across the blue and no one knows where it might guide him. Or so they tell her. The truth is he had gone missing, the seas swallow him instead. Where he might dwell is something she might never understand, something she might never find out. He could be anywhere, far away from the ship, close to it, or close to her. She might never know.
They tell her it seems as if the tides themselves took him away, as if they were alive. The night he vanished, tempests swept the boat, just as strong as her heart ached the moment she heard of his disappearance.
But she wishes to know, she wishes to find him. Alive or not, she pleads for the water to give him back. Her soft arms cradle her round, slowly growing abdomen, and as the sun above splashes the horizon a passionate grenadine, she steadily moves closer to it. The lukewarm ocean submerges her ankles and sandals. Salty drops stream down her pink cheeks into the greater sea of tears.
Her cracked lips press together in the face of the orange and cobalt wasteland ahead, she weeps. She cries his name out, her legs quiver. And from behind, she hears a noise. Her head turns and the liquid sky itself flows from her eyes. She observes the figure up and down, tattered, torn, dirty, with the blondest hair, the father of their child. He starts towards her, embracing her close.
His feet remain submerged with hers, and the waves break against their legs. As dry mouth touches dry mouth, the tides have come back to the shore, as always.