I wait for him. I sit at the water's edge and wait. He knows I'm waiting. I saw him, looking at me through the kitchen window. But he doesn't care. I still wait.
The sun moves to the west; I know it will be dark soon. But I still wait.
He finally emerges from the place that he hides in, day after day, scared to face me. He has to speak to me. I know it; he knows it. Tomorrow we both leave for home. Tomorrow, it all ends.
He sits beside me, not talking. I can feel his fear. His fear of the unspoken, of what I might say, of the truth I could speak. He is a coward.
I am patient. He hates me for it.
I desperately try to get over him. I can't. There's something about your first love that keeps him coming back, even though you hate it. No matter how hard you try to get him out of your head. He's always there.
Finally, he speaks.
He tries to deny all the wrong he has done against me. I try not to laugh. Instead, I smile and nod, barely hearing the words coming from his lips.
I pretend the words he's saying are the ones he said when we were in love: "You're beautiful" "I trust you" "I'm here for you" "I love you".
If I pretend, it doesn't hurt as bad. I fake another smile, suddenly wanting to go.
He stands up and brushes the sand off his pants. He's ready to leave. He wants to end this last conversation that we will probably ever have. He's still scared of me. It's all too obvious.
I stand too. I tell him that he needs to grow up, that I'm tired of his shenanigans, and that I never want to see him again.
But I don't mean it. I pretend I do, but I don't. I don't think he knows I still love him and that he will always be in my heart.
He doesn't know what to do. He turns and walks away, back to his hiding spot.
I imagine him running back to me, scooping me up in his arms and giving me the protection and comfort that he used to. And he'd whisper those three word in my ear, "I love you," and my world would be perfect.
But he doesn't. He doesn't even look back.
I stare at the sand, trying but failing to keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks. The tears that have been there for years that have never been able to come out. Those tears from all the hurt and pain that he's caused me. For all the embarrassment and anger he's made me endure.
But one tear is for the boy who is walking away, with every step, putting miles between us, leaving me here, mourning for the boy who has now disappeared.