The orange horizon blossoms
over the solitude of this moment,
the salty waves gently removing the sand
I dig my toes into.

I miss you, of course,
the ring weighing more heavy now
pushed against my clenched palm.
We all have promises we can't keep, I suppose.

"I'm sorry" was what I heard last,
though I wonder why.
Sorry is for something we don't mean;
your mind being made up, it's not necessary.

I'd prefer something like,
"I did love you, once.  More than anything."
without an explanation as to what happened
between then and now.

I cannot blame you, and I should not feel
too badly.  Having been loved
is one of the ultimate gifts, second only
to being loved forever.

I etch your face one last time, many times,
in the persistent waves, endless and constant.
I trace the outlines of your smile
in the sand, again and again.

Finally, when the orange glow faded to pink,
then black, I dug my fingers into the sand
one last time, and buried the ring.
There is not always shame in walking away.