He turned to her and said softly, “so, plug in if you’re drained. In this moment, we’ve never been so connected.” Her blank stare peaked out briefly from behind an overly radiant glow. He found her vacant. He inwardly whispered, “and, we’ve never felt so alone.”

He woke, suddenly. Greeted by pre-dawn shadows, a glowing green hue from a cable box clock, and an odd tingle that still lingered from electro-shock dreams. There was no sleep left in his eyes. There rarely was, these days. A sense of restlessness set the background tone for an otherwise mundane life-song. It’s not that this existence bored him. He’s come to realize, as of late, that he was the one playing the tune. He could change the tempo, if he wanted. But, it would be in opposition to the conductor’s direction. Fuck the full band. Fuck the conductor. He wanted a solo. Staccato chop, followed by long flowing scales. Something abstract, like the jazz of a grittier New York City. Something to make him feel again.

They sat amongst the early-morning shadows, those birthed by the waking sun, and listened to the heaving breath of the sea. She inhaled slowly, welcoming the morning politely into her being. He grinned slightly. Her mindfulness of everything small made him calm and thoughtful. She thought his eyes were the ocean, bluish-green and alive. He saw the waves in her hair. Dawn was breaking. Their lives were filled with tiny adventures. Brilliant brief moments, that shone bright with a golden-orange hue. The day progressed closer, as did the tide, and they explored the wet sands for tiny treasures, excited to share with each other the gifts that the surf provided.