Sometimes he felt the sea too quiet. It lapped the butterscotch sand with a soft whisper next to him. He closed his eyes and the whisper gave no hint as to the vastness of it. His feet sank slightly. Cool damp seeped through his trainers. He clenched his toes against the cold and opened his eyes again. A fine ripple crashed and raced a foot or two up the beach. There were no stones to skip. He couldn't bring himself to look harder for any.
The sea whispered and he wanted it to shout, and to shout back at it. She wasn't there with him. He crossed his arms and kicked a haggard clump of seaweed towards the water. He remembered the concentric ripples as her perfect skimmers danced across the opalescent water.
That was a different sea.
His feet sank again as he stood still, feeling the chill touch of the whispering water.
She wasn't coming back.