She spoke quietly, as if the wind taking the words from her lips would make them less true. Salt water sprayed her face, frigid to anyone else, enjoyable for her. It was as if she couldn't feel the biting chill of the negative temperatures around her.She had something to say, a conversation to finish, a speech that would rival any spoken on a podium... and damnit, she meant to finish it.
On an evening like this one, with storms on the horizon, and red-sun tipped waves crashing against the bluff on which she stood, she could argue. She could yell, scream, cry, lose her voice... on an evening like this one, if she wanted to, she could imagine her words reaching a person, with all the security of knowing that they wouldn't. She could say things designed to hurt, meant to cut... and have them ripped from her and taken away, weights removed from her shoulders.
She could. Or, she could speak quietly. She could say the things that hurt her, the fears and the sadnesses that plague her mind. She could tell those waves about the people she misses, speak the words that weigh on her in an entirely different manner.
And the wind would take them the same. And the waves would keep crashing, and they wouldn't judge. And it would all cover her speech, silence her voice, yet make it louder than it would ever be if she kept it all inside.
And when she finishes her speech, the waves will accept her the same way they accept the wind. And they'll keep crashing,
And the wind will take her the same.
