She prowls the coastline, the boundaries. Circling like caged animal – knowing full well there is no escape, but constantly exploring in the futile hope that one day there may be a crack, a weakening of a bar, the carelessness of a handler, and they might once again breathe freedom (only you can't escape from life).

If she closes her eyes at the right time of day, when the weather patterns are just so, the wind moves and it sounds like it's calling her name (but only if you listen correctly).

She tilts her head and pretends that it's the throaty whisper of a lover, pledging to cradle her heart, to care for her…for her feelings at least. Her body is so strong she doesn't need protection. Not anymore. Her organs are still soft and pliable, though. The right amount of pressure could crush her heart like a grape (and it won't grow back again).

Time crawls across the calendar and mars the cliffs and she watches it, waiting for the day to come when the men in her life won't leave her. This Tuesday, maybe (Daddy, I miss you) (Sam, I hate you).

Sea meets sky meets sun and green illuminates the horizon, but there's nothing magic or mystical in the event. When the magic became real it crossed into the world of the problematic and mundane. Like love, it's only special when it doesn't really exist. Her life isn't magic, not anymore. Now it's more like a country song – melodic and perpetually tragic. She looks behind her, but the sand has already swallowed her footprints (she doesn't know where she's been).