The old Victorian house squats on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Below she can see the sea crash upon the crags of rock in a slow mesmerizing rythm. The harsh sqwauk of a seagull interrupts her reverie. disdainfully, she looks up and espies the gull flying, it seems, towards the old sailor of the night. Tonight the sailor is full, casting it's soft light upon the dark fathomless sea.
How could he do this to her? Her love had been given to him unconditionally for two years and now he says that it is all over between them.
It's not fair! I love you. . . please. . . please. . .
Quietly, she goes inside leaving the bay windows open. She sits at her writing table. Taking in hand a pen she begins to write.
I look back and see
our unfulfilled love
that was meant to be
Thinking of you until it hurts
why should I maintain
a memory so inert
Until it be no more
and your memory be erased
will I have serenity
to continue yet another chase
But how can one love
and not have love in return?
'tis never fair
for the fair of heart
to crumble and to burn
Through the fields of yesterday
I look back and see
How our unfulfilled love
was really meant to be. . .
Despondantly, she drops the poem into the ocean. Slowly, it flutters down until a wave engulfs it.
Looking towards the far horizon she can see the sky turning pink and gold. A single tear runs down her cheek.
I will always love you.