aithiompaithe.

The tide rises; the tide falls.

He’s close to the surface.
She can feel it.

His call, his pull-
They’re drifting over the water to where she stands on the shore.

Alternately churning and too peaceful, the waves contract and release in a mirror image of the thing in her chest.
She clutches at her heart and stares mutely at the simile before her.

The streets are silent; the docks are empty.
A seafaring town can always smell a storm a mile away.
Old habits die hard.
Some habits don’t die.
Dead habits return.

She closes her eyes, in equal parts pain and pleasure.

Soon.
It will be very soon.

The tide rises; the tide falls.