Every evening she would comb her hair in the bedroom she grew up in. She'd later tred out onto the dirt path with her bare feet, her eyes would stare beyond the horizon as her body carried her in the dusk. The shells she'd collected along the bank, she told herself were the gifts from her home, calling her back. Her best friend was the water, where she was at one. No one had hugged her like the waves did. I had never seen someone caress the water such as she. It gave me goosebumps as her body swayed, I don't think I ever saw her blink. She would hum and sometimes sing a silvery tune.
The water had given her a sea cloak that she wore around her waist. Her days were spent yearning for the waves to finally collect her and take her home. All she wanted was to go home.
Tonight she walked into the lake at low-sun and that was the last I saw of her. Her hair turned watery as she lay to embrace the water, and then she blinked and vanished. I waited beneath the stars next to the tuft of grass which had become my throne moulded to my body over time. The air licked at my lungs, it was sharp and shivers rolled over my ribs like a xylophone. I pretended the Moon was warm, letting my blood boil beneath it. The girl, whether she was real or just a figment of my imagination had melted away, and the water was always that little bit fuller, sparklier, kinder.
Model is the truly special Frankie Enticknap.