He’d come to the beach to stay. Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the beach.
Sometimes he fished, but he always let them go in the end. He didn’t like to see them in such pain.
Sometimes he walked, but the walking got harder as the days went by.
Sometimes he sat and watched the ocean. Daydreamed he could fly out under the waves, a thousand miles in a moment; freedom.
Sometimes he sat and slept. Dreamed about the salt in his blood mixing with the waves, the ache of faraway places.
One time, he just walked into the water.