• He had first met her by the sea in the height of summer. Those had been carefree days, days when he had had time and money to waste. She was sitting on a large outcropping of rock, innocent white skirt and golden hair flying freely in the wind. Suddenly, whether by chance or fate, a particularly strong gust of wind wrenched her ribbon from its position around her hair and sent it drifting to his feet. He picked it up, her head turned, their eyes met, and a flock of gulls flew past, calling loudly. Of course, it was love.

    Naturally, they spent every waking moment together that summer, hand in hand as they strolled down the pier by day and watched the fireworks over the water by night. He doted upon her constantly, presenting her with small gifts every chance he got and attempting to write her poetry, which they both had many laughs over. Part of him knew that he was wasting both time and money on her, but how could he help it when she looked at him with such adoring blue eyes and said his name in so sweet a voice? When he was with her, life was perfect.

    Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and that summer was no exception. As the days shortened and the weather cooled, he found himself called back to the city by his family and was forced to leave his love standing alone by the seashore with only his promised return to console her.

    As the year progressed, he was soon swept up into a constant flurry of balls, galas, trips to the opera and to the ballet, and soon that sweet summer became but a distant memory all too easily driven from his mind by the smoldering of dark eyes or the soft caress of a lace glove. By the time the last snows of winter began to thaw, he found himself engaged to be married to the daughter of a wealthy businessman, a perfect life stretched out ahead of him, and all recollection of his former promises were swept away.

    The wedding was uneventful, and the years afterward drifted by just as smoothly, not a single hitch in the happy couple’s plans. Business went well, and he had soon amassed quite a fortune, which his wife intended to use to purchase a summer home by the sea. Papers were therefore signed, bags packed, and he soon found himself standing with his family in a rather familiar place indeed.

    He excused himself from his party to walk alone down the cobbled road to a rocky outcropping, the wind tugging playfully at his hat, which he found necessary to restrain with one hand, the other being occupied in aiding his ascent up the rocks to the spot where he had once locked eyes with one he had sworn never to forget.

    His family still standing by the shore awaiting his return, he continued on down the rock to the small, weather-beaten cabin where she had lived and knocked on the door, hoping that she would answer. The door opened, but only in response to the wind that had nearly succeeded in knocking it from its hinges over the years. Tentatively, he stepped inside the dark and empty cabin, sand and dust swirling around him as he inspected the chest of drawers, the small writing desk, the tiny, humble bed.

    And there she was, all of her former beauty gone, her hair fallen from her skull and her clothing eaten away by all manner of vermin. Clutched in her skeletal hand was a page torn from a pocketbook long ago, a page he recognized as having once belonged to him. Gently, he pried it from her lifeless grasp and smoothed it out. On one side she had written a brief but painful goodbye to him. On the other, in his own hand, was the first poorly written verse he had ever written her.

    His family waited for what seemed like ages by the shore before alerting the authorities of his absence, but by then, of course, it was too late. He had fulfilled his promise. He had returned to his love, and would never leave her again.