Waves shatter over my feet, legs, torso, then arms. The afternoon sun burns high overhead. I keep asking myself what draws me back to a place that any logical person would avoid, but I’m starting to get tired of not having an answer.
I always used to say that if I could alter the past I wouldn’t. But it’s not like that anymore, not after what happened here.
Now I feel the water slosh menacingly at my neck and face, and fear courses through me. Not fear of the waves, but fear of what is coming next.
First, the night we met. Like a dream. Far away. Not sure if it’s real or just something I made up to make the pain go away. A wonderful memory that is tainted by the future. The future I know all too well. The future that is now and was before. 
Then it’s here. Like a nightmare. Painfully present. A tormenting thought that I can’t get out of my skull.
I see him, struggling against a wall of water. I see him, choking and gasping for breath that he will never draw. I feel the crushing weight of the ocean on his lungs, his heart, his mind.
Then there is nothing.
Except I am still here. Why is that?
I visit his grave often, even after so much time. It’s like a drug to me. Except there’s no high, only pain and suffering and agonizing want. But it’s dark now, and time to go back. I separate myself from my spot in the sea and go away.
  This was the last time, I tell myself. But I know it’s a lie. I know it but hope that it is not.