Love Letters in the Sand

She buries the tip of the stick into the sand and drags it through the fine grains until she's made a heart. Putting the stick down beside her, she looks ahead, into sea foam eyes. He lowers his gaze, head canting to the side as he stares at her drawing. His tail slaps against the low tide while he curiously fingers the indentation in the sand.

“It's a heart,” she says.

He gives her a sudden look and she knows he is a far cry from believing those squiggles are supposed to represent the organ that throbs inside every chest.

The girl shrugs. “It's just a way of saying I love you,” she explains, her voice a hush.

He shakes his head, and his chuckle is a quiet one as he looks from the heart to the human girl sitting on the beach. “If you love me,” he speaks, the rare sound of his voice making her heart feel as though it will freeze up inside her chest, “why do you not just say so?”

“Sometimes it's fun to keep the object of your affection guessing,” she says, reaching over to brush some of his damp, dark bangs out of his eyes. Her hand against his cheek looks so pale against his sky-blue skin.

He shakes his head after she pulls her hand away. It still makes no sense to him. She rolls her eyes, sighing with the start of a smile on her lips.

“Nevermind,” she whispers, placing her hand beside the heart, ready to erase it from the sand. He puts a hand on hers, stopping her.

No matter how many times she explains why she carved a heart into the sand, he will never see the point in such a silly gesture. There are better ways to proclaim one's love. Regardless, he plays along, trading in the expression of confusion for a playful smile as he digs his hands into the sand, cupping her carving gently as he lifts it away from the shore.

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, his eyes glinting mischievously in the evening sunlight, “it's fun to keep the object of your affection guessing.”

She watches him lower his hands, watches the cool ocean waters wash them clean of the sand. Then he brings his hands out of the water and cups her face, kissing her in a way only he can before he drags himself by his forearms back into the depths. He lays on his back, swimming backward, flicking his fin at her provocatively. She can only shake her head, declining his offer to return to the ocean with him with a wistful smile.

When he is gone beneath the rolling waves, her heart begins to ache in that familiar way it does when he is not with her. And she understands.

Her heart belongs to the ocean.