The shore is hers alone. A fine drizzle washes away the tears that stream down her ashen cheeks. Wandering along the water’s edge, she watches the foaming waves flow and ebb leaving lines in the sand. She stoops to trace a heart with her finger and gazes forlornly as it washes away.
Atop the cliff, he stares at the boulders below. At his feet, a single golden flower refuses to submit to the wind that tries to tear it away. Should he surrender to the emotions that drag him ever closer to the edge?
She falls to her knees, the pain too much to bear. Gazing up at the grey sky, she begs for something to rescue her from her distress. She looks over her shoulder at the rock face and the silhouette of a forlorn soul on the verge of taking his final fateful journey.
He sees a figure, slumped in the shallow water staring up at him. He knows it is she. She knows it is he.
And now they sit facing each other, heads bowed, hands linked. From near-death came rebirth; a realisation that it was meant to be, yet so nearly sacrificed.
Word count 196
Sunday Photo Fiction is hosted by Susan Spaulding who also provided this week’s photo