It'd be heavenly.

We shared a little house by the ocean, and for a while we were happy. There was so much love, so much passion, between us, that I would have sworn we could overcome any obstacle. And it was a quiet little town, so it was like we had the whole world to ourselves. Maybe we did. If there was ever a perfect place in this world, it was there.

But we each had our little thing that we'd do, on our own. I'd walk along the rocks and cliffs, climbing and exploring, while she'd go running along the white sand of the beaches. We both needed to be alone, I guess, just for a little while. And that was fine. She was afraid to climb the wet rocks and I never liked running. It was a good compromise. We were good at compromise.

I don't remember when I first noticed that our alone times were getting longer. Like most gradual things, it happened suddenly. Then it kept happening. And did she notice? Whose fault was it? Could it have been a trick of the season, the days getting shorter as the winter grew closer?

Then there was tension between us that wasn't there before, though we never mentioned those sacred moments we had all to our own. If anyone had asked we'd have said we were happy, but we weren't. The joy had gone out of it. One night I brought her a bag full of seashells I'd found, and she just told me that the beach was full of them, why did I bother? She gave me a piece of driftwood to use as a walking stick, and that night I forgot about it and used it on our bonfire.

I don't think we ever actually fought, though. Not really. Everything was left unsaid, and I think that made it even worse. Especially because we still thought we were happy. How could we not be? Life here was so perfect. Except one day I went out exploring, and found a cave some miles down the beach. And the thought of going home just seemed intolerable. So I made up a little campsite, and I stayed.

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