She sat high above the ocean on a seat that had been hewn out of the rock by eons of nature's unrelenting forces. Her heart rose in sympathy with each brave assault of the waves on the cliff face, her pain sounded in each mighty crash.  They would win eventually by their tireless pounding, but all their victories would result only in destruction. A somber sky hung over the horizon in mourning for a day that held no promise of light. The wind, like a playful puppy, battered in spurts and kissed her face, nudging its cold, moist nose against her cheek.  The solitude suited her and was yet unbearable, for it was not by choice.  Her eyes searched the sky as if she waited for an omen, some vision to descend.  

She had loved him in spite of herself.  Her instincts had put up warning signs, her experience had sounded its loud voice.  The risks were great and hope did not exist.  She fought her heart at every turn, at every word she knew better than to believe and yet carved a niche for, allowing it to live in her and war against her will.  She had opened the vault to her soul and he had searched deep, collecting treasures no one had ever seen.  He owned parts of her now that she could not retrieve.  The pain of her loss was more than she could express and yet into the morning the wind howled and sounded the cry of her soul. Left asunder, it cried for what was forever lost. She listened to its mournful appeal until in a moment of perfect empathy she followed its cries and gave herself to the sea, descending only to arise again with the waves and pound out her despair against the rocks.