I'm there, sitting on a boulder on the haunted beach. Nostalgia hits me at the same time as my hair whipped by the wind, and I'm reminded of all our frustrated kisses, my hair in our mouths. I always had to turn and face the wind, and then we could devour each other in peace.
This place brings back so many good memories, all I can think of is you : the waves crash against the rocks here as much as in my mind. And the big basalt boulder over there, I see you crouching on it, waiting for the water to come surround it. I remember how I used to try to follow you between the rocks : you, you jumped from one rock to the other, your long legs so sure. Me, I slipped on the wrack, feeling and hearing its air bubbles burst under my thin sandals.
Now, because of the wind, it's nearly as cold as it was then. You, you were always frozen, and for the half-second that the wind stops blowing, the resulting warmth is you, holding me tight against you to warm yourself up.
The tide is rising, and the water is cold, I know without touching it. Even the little puddle in the shallow on top of the boulder where I am perched is cold to my fingers, and the sun has been warming it since the tide went down, hours ago. I bite my fingernail; lost in my daydreams, the saltiness is you...
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