Disclaimer: Not mine.

The tide pulls in.

Much like her breath as she stands, toes deep in the sand. And always waiting. She wants them back by her side more then she wants the next breath. But she goes on breathing. The next intake of air and they're still not here. If she could she'd run her hands over their faces just to feel their breath, proof that they are here with her. More than anything she wants to look into their vivid eyes-always so bright it hurts-and see that emotion of blue skies and green seas.

The tide pulls out.

So she'll wait. And search the sky, which are not as bright, and watch the crashing waves, which are never as deep. One day, she knows, they'll return and she'll pull the very air from their lungs and hold on and never let go.

The tide pulls in.

She still waits. And thinks of clear blue eyes. And ocean and skies. Of green depths full of half-held promises. They're still not here and all she has is this empty bottle with this sincere prayer calling them back.

The tide falls out.