Angelica

Andrew was a runner.

I could tell by his stride, the easy way he inhaled through his nose, out his mouth. While I thought I was going to pass out from shortness of breath.

"Andrew!" I yelled.

The ocean swallowed my voice.

Finally, he stopped and turned.

I kept running; he was a good hundred feet in front of me.

And when I finally caught up, I couldn't catch my breath, my tears were mixed with sand by then, and my lungs ...