This sand is coarse.

While spending time on the damp and sand-papery sand with Tom one night, we enjoyed a comfortable silence.There was no forced conversation and not a single antagonizing moment of awkwardness that comes from any type of couple... when there just is not a thing left to say. I remember resting my head on his shoulder from such a strange angle. Our bodies formed a "L" so even if we were to speak we'd be hard of hearing one another. It didn't make sense to be touching completely-- even if our bodies were stiff from the cold ocean air. You could hear the salty waves crashing violently against the already corroded sand cliffs and smell the camp fire from some teenagers a couple hours before. It would be those sounds and smells that I would always remember. That--and somehow managing to hear and steady my breathing with his. It was soothing. It was comfortable.

There wasn't a single star out, but yet we could still see the moon. The reflections scattered across the big body of water and ended on the rocks that were just on the shore. Giving us just enough light to find each others sand soaked hands and lock them together above our heads, whilst still lying on the little world that we had built for ourselves. Just for that night.

I laid there and listened to him faintly hum a song, to which I didn't know--but enjoyed nonetheless. Nothing needed to be done. Nothing needed to be said. We just had this moment; we just had each other.

He loved me...and I let him go.

It's moments like that night that I wonder why I did.