outside the ocean waves roared, and Jeanette heard their melody from her bedside.
the clock ticked a quarter to seven, but she’s was already late for work. water dripped off of Richard’s dresser. the bouquet of crimson roses fell over, but the vase wasn’t broken. “I’m leaving you,” was all he said as he packed his final bag.

the roar wasn’t the door slam, but the shatter of the glass frame on the nightstand. it  
was a photograph taken the first time she laid eyes on the horizon of the kite  beach. it wasn’t long after she remembered saying, “let’s just not go back,” a line she’d recite at her wedding reception.

she thought her dream of living in Cabarete with the love of her life left with the roar
of his plane. that was about sixteen years ago, but she’s still in love. her love was not the one she traveled to paradise with, but paradise itself.