She sat by the window lost in though. Her pen lay between pages of her open diary waiting to write. Her feelings, her emotions longed to be expressed. Sneaky words, tricksters as they are, evaded her completely.
I was leading a perfectly normal life until the storm at the sea devoured my family one night leaving me as the sole survivor. I blamed myself and quit work. I disconnected from everyone and started spending my days by a tiny rocky beach, a hidden gem, my wife and I had stumbled upon during our courtship days.
Everyday I would sit by the same rock looking out into the sea filled with sadness and frustration and everyday, a young girl would come gleefully, trot carefully upto the rocks splashed over by the waves, spread her hands as if embracing the world and sing the same song, whisper a few words and wish me a great day on her way back.
One day, I admonished her at being overly cheerful.
Slightly hurt, she replied, “My parents died at sea when I was fourteen. The wind and waves help me feel them. I am joyous because that’s how I want them seeing me. How would they feel if they saw me sulking here all day stuck up in my life?”