She sits quietly in the sand, legs splayed out and fingers digging in as if searching for something.

Her deep brown eyes gaze upon the horizon as the sun sets over the Pacific ocean before us. The wind smoothes it's invisible phalanges through her long mane, causing it to whip to and fro.

Her caramel skin glistens under the waning sunlight. Droplets of seafoam cling to it as if they were meant to be apart of her. She is some distant ancestor to the ocean.

No, she is the ocean.

And I am some shipwrecked seafarer standing on a deserted island, waiting to be embraced by her.

In moments like this, her entire being stretches out as far as the eye can see.

Her soul, the reflection of the Sun as it sinks below the water.

Her eyes, the moon floating on the surface at midnight.

Her skin, the waves that crash against the sand.

Her voice, the sound of those waves in the dead of night where I alone stand to listen.

These moments always seem to stretch on for eternity before she reminds me that I am still alive. That I am not just a cold, dead satellite drifting in her orbit. A boat floating on her rough tide.

A ghost, whose body sleeps on the sea floor, forever haunting her.

Quietly in love.

"Stop staring, weirdo," she snarks quietly. Her eyes aflame with mirth and light. The way they only ever are with me.

My heart beats a bit faster in my chest and my hands betray me. They break my concentrated moment as my sandy fingertips graze over her damp skin. Until finally, our fingers interlock.

Emotions grasp my throat as our eyes connect and I want to say something.

Anything...

In the end...the words sink to the bottom of the ocean.