H A U N T E D

t w e n t y - t w o

t w e n t y — t w o

This sun is starting to set down beneath the horizon when I read the last sentence of the book, struggling to keep my breathing steady and dab at the corners of my wet eyes. Jack snuggles in the crook of my body, his arm resting on top of the log and laying his head in the crook of his elbow. His eyes look bloodshot, and I've noticed that the past few minutes, he keeps clearing his throat and sniffling through his nose. No tears fall from his eyes, although the rims of his eyes seem to be red. I gently close the book, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth as I allow warm tears to roll down my cheeks. The inside of my chest feels cracked and pained, and I struggle to breathe for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. I always feel detached whenever I finish this book, and I have to remind myself that I am alive and well — but I also have to take a moment to jumpstart my heart.

"Well-", Jack starts after we sit in silence for a few moments. He lifts his head to gaze out at the seas, which has started to calm down as the moon appears from the east. The sun — although it is not quite down — has caused the clouds to be painted shades of rose and peach, and the wind has settled down for the night.

"I am not the same, you were right. But this change is good", he mumbles, and I watch as the soft breeze brush against his hair. I put the book back into my bag and hum as I think about the first time I read the book. I cried for days on end, and my mother was quite worried after the fifth day. As I said, I always get too invested in stories. I guess I always seek solace in these types of books and find comfort in the characters that always meet tragedy at the expense of their heart.

Through the course of the day, I had some sandwiches and other snacks, although I've noticed that Jack refused to eat anything. Every time I offered him something to snack on, he'd say 'no, thanks' and asked me to continue with the reading. He handed me his petticoat to throw over the log and use as a pillow. He even covered me with a smaller blanket he had buried in the basket but left himself defenseless against the winter chill. I close my eyes and rest my head against the log, feeling the quiet hum of the low tide rolling out to the shore. I feel the presence next to me move away, and I open my eyes to see Jack standing up and collecting a few broken pieces of driftwood along the shore. He then starts to pile them together and realizing what he's aiming at doing, I stand up to collect rocks that'll keep the pit together. After the pit has been built, I go sit down back on the blanket and Jack squats down to light the wood alight, with a lighter he took out from his pants' pocket. I watch as the fire took alight and the heat that radiates from it, is welcomed with enthusiasm as I scoot closer to the pit.

Jack takes his seat next to me, making sure to keep his distance from the glowing embers that steadily float into the darkening sky. I take another sandwich from the basket and offer one to him, but he merely waves it off. I shrug and take a bite of the sandwich. We don't speak, and I know that we are absorbing the ton of feelings that push down on our chests. How beautiful it is to be human, and feel all these things at once?

"How tragic it must be, to have loved someone even though it meant your own death", Jack sighs and pulls his knees up to his chest. I ponder over his words and the deeper meaning behind them.

"Does it even make it worth it?"

I chew the skin off of my bottom lip, trying to imagine a world without the greatest love stories. The stories that fed the hope of young hopeless romantics, an ageless blaze of a possible future. I've always wondered about the untold stories of love — the ones that barely had the chance to take alight before being extinguished, or the ones that didn't end in heartache.

"It gives us hope", I whisper back, drawing the blanket closer to myself. The sun has now set and leaves the dark night out for us to venture into.