Iris kneads the sand with her feet. Soft particles press against her toes. She takes a deep salty breath and searches for him in the unfolding clouds. The sea crashes and growls, letting it be known just how alive it is. The galloping white horses rear up and tumble over each other, a front line making its fearful approach. The ocean is all that she’d wanted for the past few weeks. She’d yearned for it like a lost child. Now that she’s finally here, its force intimidates her. She swears under her breath, letting the wind take profanities away. 

*

They used to swim here together every day, building resilience until they could easily spend thirty minutes in the freezing water. They would cheer each other on, pushing against the tide for one moment before sprinting back to the car; blasting warm air and locking blue lips. He would warm her fingers up in his mouth, sucking each one until the blood returned. 

He wore a multicoloured jacket the first day they met, a young Joseph in his very own dream coat. He pulled on her ponytail to get her attention, actually yanked on it like a lifeline. They were sitting outside Mcdonalds. A group of burgeoning teens nursing burgeoning friendships alongside neon slush puppies that turned brain cells to dust. She scowled at him. She’d taken to scowling a lot then, a desperate attempt to cover up the braces. He leant over conspiratorially. 

'What’re you thinking about?'

'What?'

'Go on, tell me, what’re you thinking about?'

She let out a short laugh, 'Why d’you wanna know?'

'Isn’t it weird that everyone is walking around at any given moment and just thinking about stuff. Constantly having a conversation with themselves. What the hell is that all about? Don’t even get me started on imagination. We literally make movies in our own brain.'

She evaluated him. A smattering of acne scars along the left side of his chin, grease bridging his nose and eyebrow hairs sprouting out at odd angles. The handsomeness of his features was held captive in puberty's unfortunate grasp. 

'My cousin once told me she doesn’t imagine stuff. Like, if you tell her to think of a unicorn, she can’t picture it.' 

His smile cracked open; delicious, overspilling. 

'Now, that’s about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Why have I not seen you before?' 

*

Icy air hurries past as she pulls her dress off. Seagulls make futile attempts to fly against the wind. Iris walks to the tide line, a violent, involuntary shiver rattles through her as the glassy surface meets her toes. How could she have forgotten how cold it can be? 

It takes five deep breaths to wade to her knees. Goosebumps bloom,  hairs stand to attention, chattering teeth count to ten then count again. The seagulls erupt into laughter. She hops backwards, cursing loudly. Her bravery had been an illusion. Her bravery had been him. 

*

She always loved him most when they were dancing. The first time they went clubbing, immortalised in their collective memory. Swotting up on the facts of their fake ID’s, suspicious bouncers melted into a room that pulsated, simply buzzed, with possibility. His hand interlocked with hers, pushing through the crowds, turning back to check she was still there. Greens, oranges and pinks twirling across his face. His stupid smile; her multicoloured lover, so alive in the lights. They moved together, sweaty and close, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Three songs in, she spun away from him. She wanted him to really see her.  Her hips rolled, her eyes closed, the music crawled into her bones and directed each movement. 

Yet when she looked back, he was no longer there. She scanned around, the sea of unfamiliar faces. She tried to push through the wall of bodies but they were impossible to break. The crowd had its own agenda, unwanted stares drowning her. She didn’t want to be here without him. She didn’t want to be anywhere without him.

He pushed his way back through the crowd. Two dripping cups of cider held overhead, disco lights rushing to find him. 

*

Iris stumbles back to her abandoned heap of belongings. She wraps herself in a towel, freshwater tears slipping down salted cheeks. She buries her legs in the sand, watching them disappear. More days of musky bed sheets, more days of blankly staring  into the flicker of a candle. The anger stings; how dare she be left with nothing but questions. Two lives so intricately intertwined. What’s the good in a collective memory when you’re left carrying it alone? Her initial shock has ebbed its way into something darker, something cold and confusing.  

*

He was so technicolour, he never let her know the darkness. He would disappear from view, slip from grasp like a fish in the shallows. Weeks could melt away, every message lighting her phone a reminder of his silence. Days spent lying on her bedroom floor, making sense of the cracks running across her ceiling. Lines turning into patterns, patterns into shapes, shapes running into movies in her head. He’s gone. He’s found someone else. He’s left me for some long limbed bitch he met in the supermarket.  

It wasn’t another lover wrapping around his neck. The things she would trade now just to have asked: 'What’re you thinking about?' 

*

She’s burying her whole torso  in the sand when a stream of sunlight punches through the clouds. It slowly waltzes towards her, finds her cheek, strokes her face. She tips her head back. She looks down the sweeping, empty expanse of beach. Not another soul in sight. Time is all she needs. She stands and propels forward, shattering a wave. The cold is absolute; it catapults through her body. It’s the bright toll of a bell, the sweeping of the house. She comes up for air and screams at the wind.