She thought she found the perfect hiding spot,
…and a perfect spot it really is.
The setting sun dropped a little lower, shifting the skies to a golden palette of colors that stretched across the horizon. She could feel the sea slowly creeping over as she walked towards the water and felt the crashing waves at her feet. Beautiful, she thought.
Her happiness rolled in like the waves of ocean echoing their gaiety as she recounted the treasured moments of yesteryear like times past held delicately between her fingertips—the myriad highs and abyssal lows, the surge of love and the grief of loss, the rise and fall, the fear and peace, the infinite procession of life. She remembers great friends, lovers, families, and acquaintances with passionate embraces, then departing with fond farewells in hopes of meeting once again.
Taking a deep breath, she realized that she wasn’t really trying to hide, more likely, she sought to be found. And in finding her being, she found her peace. Slowly, she walked towards a large tree near the shore and sat beneath its shade.
“Goodbyes do often come in waves.” She softly whispered as her lips curved into a smile and saw the last remnants of the day fade.
As a tribute, I’ve decided to use my very first entry to Mondays Finish the Story entitled, Perfect Spot.
My experience with Mondays Finish the Story prompts goes beyond the number of posts I have made and the tales I have weaved. It became a place for meeting brilliant minds and quarters for learning and fun. All praises go to Barbara Beacham. Thank you. You will never be forgotten.