She said she'd come back.
The words are out before you know it, sent outwards to an empty room.
They've been there for a while now, though, and you haven't realized. Well, you've noticed, but why would you deliberately pay attention when you know you haven't got a chance?
You pity the fool who thought love was the answer to all.
Every single day.
Every day that you look in the mirror.
You said you'd go back.
You gaze across the sea and watch the ocean lapping at the sand, feel the sand, really feel it.
Every single grain that is individual, yet a part of a whole. Each one that was once a rock, then in the ocean, and yet still ending up on this damn beach.
Fate seems to be ruler of all.
Everyone is the same.
You said you'd keep fighting.
So you do. With every fiber of your being, you fight everything.
Even yourself. Even her.
The only one you didn't fight, it seems, was them.
They who took everything from you, from so many, filled with so much hate and intolerance.
They who he had sworn to wipe out.
Strange how life changes things.
He said he'd fight.
He said she was different.
You had fought.
But here you were, on this damn beach, with He-Who-Promises-But-Doesn't-Deliver Mark 2. Holding hands.
You stare at the sand, marveling at how no matter where you start, you end in the same place. Always.
You feel his eyes on you, feel in his very human pulse a sudden change.
He squats down, picks up two sand grains. Does his own jigger pokery, and then some hullabaloo (you recognize this one, because you were there, even if you failed it), and suddenly, where the sand grains were, two are mashed together, in a tiny rock. Grins.
Your answering smile is brilliant.
She said she'd go back.
He believed her.
He said he'd fight.
She believed him.
They said they had reached it, that they were—
Well.
We're all wrong sometimes.