'Did you like it there?' I asked.
'I did.'
'But you came back, though.'
'I missed the horizon,' he said, without a hint of irony or embarrassment, and my breath caught in my throat.


I had never really thought about the horizon before. It was always just there.
I stare out now through my rain-spattered windshield at that sharp, bluish line beyond which the whole world might simply fall away, and I imagine a life where buildings block my view in all directions, a life where the horizon isn't just down the road. Sitting here now, that life feels almost inconceivable. 

I roll down my windows and a gust of delicious salt air rushes through. Instinctively I suck it deep into my lungs, wishing I could hold my breath and take it with me. Nearby the waves wash steadily in and out, and I close my eyes to savour the sound of their endless ebb and flow. 



Out of love - Hazel Hayes