a short story

A bittersweet undertow had claimed her, lifetimes ago. She was leaving. So much for long talks over mugs of coffee and cider. So what if he saw straight through her smoke rings? It didn't matter that they'd walked by the ocean all summer in pink moonlight not holding hands, just touching their toes and climbing palm trees. She kissed him once, sweetly, as the tide came in. Waves pummeled their delicate shoreline sketches. She was leaving. There was no use in crying.