It ends where it begins

Love, a word, a feeling, someone’s entire life. Love is what makes you who you are, love is what makes life, love is life. Without love there is nothing, there is loneliness, and sadness and emptiness. Love is what made me love the home I lived in, love is what made me want to stay in the village I lived in, love is what made me so crazy I thought I was sick.

The year was 1951, I lived in Saint-Malo France, it was a beautiful village, small and low populated but beautiful. I had a perfect view of the sea, I watched the sunrise every morning. I would always find time to walk on the beach, I loved the suiting noise of the waves hitting the shore. Walking alone on the beach gave me all the time I needed to think, I was always lost in my head. No one ever bothered me, no one ever came to the beach, except for the fishermen every once in a while, but they wouldn’t bother me, quite the opposite of that. I enjoyed seeing them get ready to sail off, well I enjoyed seeing one of them. There was a boy, but not any boy. This boy was the love of my life. I dreamt of him every night, I dreamt of his light curly hair, his strong jawline, those soft blue eyes you could just stare into all day and lose yourself in. I watched him sail into the sea with ten other french men and imagined it just being him and me on that boat sailing away from this small village and this small life, together.

“Isabelle! Isabelle reviens à la maison” My father yelled from the house

“Oui papa J’arrive” I answered

Oliver, the boy with the ocean blue eyes heard my father yell my name and noticed me. He waved and I waved back without hesitation.

“Isabelle!” My father shouted again.

I ran up the hill and made my way back to my small townhouse. I went up to my room and put my school dress on, it was already 7:30, I was going to be late.

My school was just one room, very small with only twelve students. I didn’t listen to a word the professor had said that day. I drew in the notebook I brought everywhere with me. I drew a picture, a picture of something beautiful, a picture of the beach, and the sea, and Oliver waving at me. I had many drawings like this one, I loved to draw, art was my passion, and I especially loved to draw things I found beautiful.

When school had finished, Oliver was waiting for me in front of the building. Every Friday he would walk me back home. Oliver lived in the house next to mine. I’ve known him my whole life. He didn’t know the love I felt for him, and he would never know since I wouldn’t dare to tell him, it would ruin everything. The feelings I had were probably foolish anyway, I was only sixteen years old and Oliver was twenty-two. Why would he ever think of me in such ways? Why would he think of a young naive sixteen-year-old girl who was still in school while he was out in the real world working and meeting new people every day? I treasured these moments together, as we walked back to our homes. We would always take the longest way back, we always had so much to talk about and would get lost in our conversations.

“Et voila, votre maison” Oliver would say with a smile, he said that every time he dropped me off

“Merci” I replied

We would look at each other for a while, I wouldn’t be able to leave his gaze, I would get lost in his eyes and he would get lost in mine. I hugged him tight, like if I wasn’t going to see him in a while. My father opened the door and I pulled away from Oliver.

“Good day Monsieur” Oliver said

My father didn’t answer, that hug Oliver and I shared must have bothered him. It would be completely ridiculous if it did, it was just a hug, well, not to me it wasn’t. I ran back up to my room and looked out the window, watching Oliver walk back to his home. I could still feel his arms around my waist, his warmth, his body against mine. It was more than just a hug to me, it was always more than just a hug.

I spent most of the next day on the beach. I woke up early to watch the fishermen get ready to sail off. I sat not too far away, so it wouldn’t look like I was watching them. Oliver saw me and decided he would say hello.

“Bon matin Isabelle” Oliver said

“Bon matin” I replied

“You are up early”

“I always am, I like to watch the sunrise ”

“Ah yes. What is that you have in your hands?”

“A picture”

Oliver took the picture of the sunrise above the sea I had drawn.

“I knew you loved to draw, but I didn’t know you were this good” Oliver said

“Oliver! Vien! It’s time to go” shouted one of the fishermen.

“I’d love to see more of your drawings” Oliver added and ran back to the boat.

The feeling I had in my heart was nothing like I ever had before. Those words meant a lot to me.

After watching the fishermen sail off into the sea, I went back home, to my room and searched for my best drawings and my best paintings to show Oliver. I made sure to not take the ones of him. I didn’t want to scare him off, and if he knew I thought about him so much, it might seem a little odd. I waited on the beach all day, I waited for Oliver to get back, I imagined us sitting here together, looking at my pictures, I imagined him sitting close to me, drowning in my art, as I drowned in the art sitting beside me.

I saw his boat making its way back to shore, I felt sort of nervous, or was it excitement, to be sharing something I love with someone I love. I stood up and stared in his direction. Oliver noticed me and I watched as he talked to the other men. He then turned back around with a beautiful smile on his face and made his way to me.

“I brought you some of my drawings.” I said to him.

As I went to hand them out, a gust of wind blew them out of my hand. “Merde!” I shouted

Oliver and I started running around trying to catch them. I saw Oliver run into the water trying to grab the drawing before they got to wet. Once I got a hold of all of them I turned back towards Oliver who was still ankles deep into the water staring down at the paper.

“Oliver?” I asked and took a couple of steps forwards, dipping my feet into the water.

“Is this me?” He asked still gazing at the drawing.

My heart sank, I must have grabbed a drawing of him without noticing.

“Do you draw me often?” Oliver then asked

I didn’t know what to answer, I should lie, I didn’t want him to think of me as a freak.

“I just draw what I think is beautiful” was what I had answered

Oliver finally looked at me. His look slowly killing me. He got closer to me, I could feel his energy.

“Do you love me, Isabelle?” Oliver asked

There it was, the word, love, the word with so much meaning. The word that could change everything. The word I held onto.

“Oui, Je t’aime Oliver” I said with such a passion. Even if what I said was risky, I didn’t regret saying it, because it was the truth.

Oliver put his hand on my face and moved my hair behind my ear. We locked eyes, not wanting to look away from each other.

“Je t’aime Isabelle”

I could feel the earth slow down, it was just us now, only us. Oliver got closer and so did I. Even if it was for just a moment, it felt like an eternity as our lips touched and melted together. I didn’t want to leave his embrace, I wanted to stay here forever, but nothing lasts forever.

Oliver walked me back home, hand in hand, we didn’t want to let each other go.

“Is this right?” I didn’t know why I was questioning it, why I was questioning our love

“Is what right?” Oliver asked

“You’re six years older” I replied

“You are young now, but you will get older, and when you are older, this will be right, even if we have to wait. I will wait for you Isabelle” Oliver said

His words made me feel like everything would be alright. We walked up to the hill and walked towards my home. Before I walked in he pulled me closer one more time, kissing me like if it were the last time. His lips lingered as he pulled away. He caressed my cheek and said one more time those two beautiful words “je t’aime” and turned the other way. Everything seemed to be falling into place. The door behind me suddenly opened. My father pulled me in and walked out of the house with a large stick in his hand.

“Reste ici Isabelle” he said with a stern voice

He was walked towards Oliver, something was wrong, I knew something was wrong, I could feel it in my heart. When Oliver saw what was coming, his face that was once soft and peaceful was filled with fear.

“She’s only sixteen!” Was what my father shouted before hitting his head with the stick he held in his hands

“Non! Oliver!” I shouted. I could feel my tears pouring down my face as Oliver’s body fell lifeless down the hill. All this happened in a moment, a moment that was once beautiful but was turned into pure sadness and fear.

There he died, the boy I loved, in front of the sea, while the sunset. His last words were I love you.

Love, that word, that feeling, my entire life, gone, in an instant, in a moment, in a second.