The bells rang out and the world shivered . . . my life was over, and yet, I still drew breath. My soul was full of holes, pocked and barren as the moon -- empty and desolate.
Trembling and shaking upon the beach, I tried to remember what had happened -- what had brought me to this utter despair. I heard the bells ring out again, as if to say, “I see you! I know your heart and what you’ve done. You’re a murderer . . . murderer!” No! It can’t be true! We were in love! I love her still!
I looked out to sea and watched the approaching waves, searching the cresting billows for any sign of my love. There was no priest to say any words for her, no mourners dressed in black. There was nothing . . . nothing but the pounding of my heart and the church bells ringing out from the very top of the cliff, resonating in every fiber of my being . . . “MURDERER! MURDERER!”
I remember we had begun to climb the steep seaside cliffs, wanting to see the old church, racing each other and laughing, so full of love. The ocean hammered away at the rocks, eating away large chunks of earth in the battered old cliffside, but leaving adequate handholds to help our quick ascent to the top. I could smell the salty sea and taste its residue upon my lips, feel its spray upon my back as the waves collided endlessly upon the rocks below.
I’ve noticed the ocean tastes of tears. Perhaps that is what it truly is: God’s own pool of weeping, sorrow and lament; or maybe it’s simply the teardrops of forlorn lovers, gathered and compiled in this one place since the very beginning of time.
For me, the ocean will always be so, because I will never be able to discern the taste between its waters and the tears of love lost. I will never look upon the great sea the same way again -- without thinking of her, and how much I loved her.…
