Haunted Wood Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath

Saltwater had not come.

He found it fresh and thought that perhaps if he followed it, it would be there. The waves, the crashing sounds, the rolling. It never came and it left him fitful. As if a curse had been swaddled around him when she had spoken to him.

He did not mean to be there every time she cried, but in a way it seemed as if he simply was.

This time he did not immediately seek to place her beneath his hold or comfort. He watched and wondered if the sea would fix this ailment of tears.

If anything he could do or give would.