It is summer in Southern California. The air is stale and still. A thin, persistent layer of smog dominates the Los Angeles skyline viewed in the distance from your car. Everything is a dull brown color; the sky holds a sickly grayish hue. You don't smile anymore. Away we go to the edge of the world - not our edge of the world, a different one we have never been to together as your sleek and shiny BMW X5 zips past car after car. Your left leg is propped up on the seat as you drive nonchalantly with your right, a near-grimace of disgust on your face. Eventually the traffic subsides and the sky turns a healthier shade of blue. As it should be. Windows down and the salt-laden air fills your car - an old friend welcoming us back after years of absence. Except we aren't back because we aren't who we once were. The sea remains oblivious. The salt air triggers memories in my head like tiny explosions, each making me regret the past and hate the future. I remember your smile, a genuine happiness that lit up your eyes and softened your face, but as I steal glances at you all I see is pain and sadness.

We park and find a spot on the sand. As you remove your tank top and shorts, sitting there in a sports bra and spandex, I realize just how skinny you've become. It makes me sad. I watch as you close your eyes and breathe in deeply, exhaling despair and disappointment. Things have changed so much. Where did the girl I love go? At that instant all I want to do is save you. I want to take your hand and run to your car and away we will go. North. The last place I truly saw you. But I sit and watch as you lie there, eyes closed, your fragile figure absorbing the sun. So we sit side by side, not talking, just thinking and trying not to.