The sand was flat and empty except for a single set of footprints. They marched above the waves with assertion. They were supposed to be there. It reminded her of him, before he ended it, sudden and swift. He was supposed to be with her. Or so she thought. She hadn’t even found out about the other girls before the break-up—her ex-best friend had told her. Her ex-best friend had been one of the other girls.
She started to try and cover the footprints up, wiping sand across them, hoping they would disappear, like the cold ache she felt every time she moved, breathed, thought. She gazed sadly at her work-she had only increased the disturbed sand. It looked far worse than it did before.
Then the rising tide hit her feet. She jumped, startled, but the wave was already retreating.
The footprints were gone. The sand was flat and empty except for her own footprints. She marched assertively across, into the warm waves, to finally heal. At last, she thought, I don’t need anyone to love me but me. And she did.