I was sitting outside of a café when I saw them. They were watching the waves crash into the sand before their feet, giggling at his jokes. I wasn’t disappointed as I sat there, sipping a Perrier and enjoying the sun and daily paper. I wasn’t going to approach them either and I figured I would just hide behind my glasses and hat. I promised myself not to be brash about the subject if it ever surfaced in our desperate conversation. I never knew if I would see her again after that day. I planned to, but wasn’t for certain.

The minuets raced by, and the sun began to set in the late afternoon. Each time I picked up my glass, the condensation on the side would remind me that I’ve been there too long and should be on my way home. They began to gather their things and were preparing to leave when all of the sudden, he kissed her, right there on the beach, in front of me. She didn’t restrain, not for a second. She then got in his truck, and the two of them sped away.

I stood there, hands in my pockets, confused. I wasn’t troubled by her actions; I was confused by mine. Why was I there at that moment? Why was I watching them?

It struck me on the drive home when I realized that the unknown can be more comforting than what you may discover. And from that day forward, I never saw her again.