The more time she spent alone the more she realised that her broken heart had nothing to do with the other person.
She had flung her broken pieces at her would be suitor and called it love. The cry of intimacy had worked its charms, for a moment an ecstasy of relief. When the fix wore off she just needed more.....and more, until a numbness crept along her skin, like scare tissue encasing its wound.
In the silence she could see it clearly now, as the ocean washed another layer of torment from her healing body.
Photography