To Move On

By San

There are echoes of shore-crashing sea waves folded in pockets of the sea-shell that rests on Eric’s palm.

It shouldn’t be this overwhelming. Should be less of a misery. But then again, when has life ever percolated from a ‘should’?

Feet a totter away from retracting, lug his toes deeper into the sand as he gulps down the lump that gnaws at his throat.

To a clueless eye, this sight must be absurd— a grown man shaking edgily, apprehensive to enter the beach. But to the one aware, it’s a pat-back progress; especially when he finally lets the sand caress the sole of his barefoot.

Eric sighs. Crinkly tickles of the sand slither between his toes and blanket over the foot dotingly; as though embracing him a welcome back. It’s been too long since he felt this. Two years too long.

“What's love without passion?” Jade’s words will forever ring in his ears.

Only difference, yesterday they rung like wind chimes, today they blare like a gong.

He hates that analogy. No, that is not how love should be normalised. Sincerity, yes. Ardor, sure, why not? ‘Passion’, never.

“Then baby, let me love you with a ‘burning’ passion.” He had replied within half a breath.

Emotions are for human consumption. To be elating, levitating, burdening, agonising, perhaps boring. What is wrong is when they begin to consume the human. Wrong.

Eric takes more steps. Unfocused gaze chases the kids running astray, he feels his heart sigh in relief. Days reflash when he had each one of his friends, singularly and enmasse, try to bring him back here; had tasted failure each time with him ending up either wailing or eerily numb in their arms.

Today however, he woke up with an ominous whisper telling him to get up and get over it. To not let a place he once dwelled in become a catastrophe.

He loved Jade with everything he knew, everything he had. Yet, forever thinking back, there's a tumulting pain in his chest at the thought of loving him.

The upheaval of the seawaves, wet feet gluing the sand, the orange blanket enveloping the Sun were all Eric’s sanctuary, before Jade decided to barge in, replace it, then abandon it. Unintentionally with an empty place to harbour.

Happiness is fluid, they say. When Eric dips his hand into the water ebbing the shore, watches it inundate his fingers, glisten them in it’s saline sparkle— only to then slip away leaving a chalky bitter residue, he agrees.

Memories are clayey, they say. He thinks back to the last time when there was another pair of footprints beside his own, another wet hand locked into his. When offhandedly thrown promises and secretly whispered confessions that once gave him tingles now metamorphed into unnerving shivers, he agrees.

Regrets are rock-solid, they say. When Jade made Eric feel so much like home that now, with him gone, he feels homesick in the confines of his own house, looking for a place he’s never visited, he agrees.

Jade never really was fond of the beach. But everytime he knew Eric needed to step away from the bustle, he’d drive them down here— chat for hours, prepare picnics or simply let him unwire. Even if he’d be complaining about his sand filled pockets, sizzling sunburns and sea-salt afro all day.

Eric of course was grateful for that. Was. Until it changed from 'Going to the beach with Jade’ to ‘Going with Jade to the beach’.

Jade was a woods-baby. While Eric would be swat-dodging mosquitoes, smelling like moist oakwood; Jade stood waxing poetics on the types of mud. He of course adored it with all his heart. Until the echo of his own yells now came back as Jade’s giggles when he’s there.

When they promised to love each other till their last breath, he didn’t foresee how one of their hearts could break despite both of them keeping their words.

And that’s on him for loving with passion.

He didn’t know how he loved the aroma of the morning coffee that Jade used to have, until he finds himself in the kitchen one week after he was gone, wondering what his hollow heart demands.

Didn’t know he was particularly attached to the screeching holler of the lawn-mower at 5 pm until he was looking at the overgrown shrubs through the crack of his window like it was a gifting-tree for yearners.

He exhales, finally sits down. Hands under his thighs, the humid breeze tassels his hair away and he shuts his eyes.

“Beach wedding or no wedding at all!”

Jade sighs dramatically, lifts himself off the ground and Eric gapes at his now empty hand. “I-it was a joke! Where’re you going?!”

“Wedding venue tour.”

Their’s was the love that burns your heart with every breath, leaves you craving for more.

And of course there was an aftermath, but he never was good with calculus anyway.

That’s the last of him. With a lingering ache, Eric comes to a conclusion that he, now, shall move on.

Love again, but a generous amount. Perchance the lover happens to leave, he suffers a pain in life, not suffers to live.

Love someone to adore them, cherish them. Not become breathless at every jarr in their breath.

To love them with honesty, dedication and purity. Not passion. Never passion.

He folds the top-corners of his favourite pages, and finally closes the book that was Jade— good lessons learnt and bad plots forgotten.

The beach is his closure.

By San