This is inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
So many years have rolled by, but the memories are still as bright, the pain as sharp. Perhaps I shouldn’t come here and gaze across the sea to the pale grey hump on the horizon. Only on a fair day can I see it through the cloud and sea mists, but always I know it is there.
The sea is never the same, sometimes smooth and inviting, and I kid myself that I could cross it if only I had a boat. Other times, the waves crash angrily on the rocks that rise like the teeth of a trap, encircling the shore, and my half-formed plans scatter like drifting foam. Even when the storm rages, I cannot keep away, though I see nothing but the fury of the sky and the ocean barring my way.
There is no hope for me. I will never shake off the chains of love and longing. One day, my children may forget for me, and learn to live in peace with this place. But my lot is that of the exile, to gaze from afar at the unattainable—the green hills of home.