He couldn't understand very much français, but he understood beauty, and he understood the sea. Anything that could not be understood in these terms did not seem worth explaining.
But she was as beautiful as the ocean, and that, he could understand.
He remembered the old Tahitian sailor whom he had met, and the prophetic words he spoke:
"No man can rule her. La mer, the sea, cannot be steered the way you or I would steer our vessels."
And the young man was beginning to understand the same about the beautiful girl.
Just as they danced, with great intensity and gusto, for it was their favorite thing to do, orbiting one another like the earth, sun and moon, he knew he had lost control.
He held her in his arms until a set wave came through, crashing right on top of them both. In fleeting glimpses, he could see her tumbling away with the currents.
But fighting was useless. Momentum was the key. He understood the need to go with the flow. Ignore the burning chest, he told himself, soon you will surface again. Those moments spent hurtling underwater only make the next breaths sweeter.
Though nothing was worse than this, he thought. She had the power to drown him. Yet, drowning would be a relief. At least it would end the way it started; in a maelstrom of passionate fury. Drowning would save him.
And so, his most dreaded dream came true. The ocean went flat.
Days passed, turning to weeks. Weeks, in turn, became months. And still he remained.
Adrift.
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