Last Kiss

Angel

Lukas is a shadow against the sunset, still, motionless like the statue of a fallen Greek god. He scans the ground below us with a slight crease in his smooth forehead, “are you sure this is the right place?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I am not sure about anything anymore.”

He shakes his head, and keeps on walking, his same, unceasing brisk pace. I climb down carefully behind him, my knees slightly bent, my arms stretched out on either side of me for balance. The cliff is steep, and my converses keep slipping on the jagged rock.

I stop for a moment, waiting for my breath to even out. A dense coopery sun hangs low in the horizon spilling thousands of golden sparkles onto the ocean. In front of me Lukas does the same. I notice his foot tapping impatiently on the rock he is standing on and I force myself to keep on going.

When I catch up to him he slows his steps to match mine. His muscles are taut, his jaw rigid, the crease in his forehead even deeper. I touch his arm, and I can feel the tension underneath release a little. He smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling. “I never excepted it to be like this.”

“What did you expect it to be like?”

“I don’t know. Just not like this.”

The ocean fills our senses now. The only sounds are the rhythmic crashing waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet. Our slowing heartbeats. A mild breeze ripples through my hair, fragranced with salt and ancient summers. The ocean has lived many years. Lukas crouches down to untie his shoes. Once he has taken them off he places them neatly next one another, facing the ocean. I mirror him; placing my red converse next his grey.

Others come onto the shore, climbing down from the cliffs like we did, or appearing from the dense thicket of trees. Their voices are colors; silent whispers of pale yellows, and soft magentas, swirling in the air in clouds of glimmering dust. Their bodies are blurred, not quite there and not quite here. Only their eyes are vibrant, alive in their forgotten faces. The sun drowns in their indigo depths.

 

We take little notice of these figures; we feel their presence like a quickly dismissed afterthought, something no longer of great importance. We shield our eyes squinting. Just below the sun, where the sky drowns into the ocean, a thick white mist shimmers in a fixed location resembling an island of foam, or else a gathering of clouds that float on the water.

Lukas takes my hand in his, its warmth reminding me of the first summer we spent together, all those star filled nights. His green eyes had been incandescent, glowing in the quiet darkness that was scented slightly of citrus. His green eyes are still beautiful, but forlorn somehow, riddled with dark blue specks. He traces my collarbone with his index finger and when he kisses me it is with a soft pressure. It feels like a memory even before it is over.

The others observe us, their pearly white bodies, flickers at the corners of our eyes. We hold each other’s hand as we walk toward the ocean; fingers laced together, but when the first icy wave licks our toes our fingers drift apart slowly like within a dream. The water welcomes each of us alone.

 

 

 

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