At Sea

She hadn't been the one. It was that simple. His second breakup this year, and there were still almost four months to go. The time span of his relationships was shrinking - as was the amount of his patience. It was always the same problem - his problem. He hadn't been willing to commit. Now notorious for transitory relationships, he was a condition to be avoided - except by the spoiled, expectant debutantes who were raised to be corporate wives.

In spite of his dismal history, he didn't accept that he had to live the rest of his life without passion; without desire. Though he would get the few children that would strengthen the nails holding him bound to the trophy wife's trophy wall; he would eventually be expected to fulfill his thirst for intimacy elsewhere. That hadn't been the life his parents had led - they had been fortunate. Both had been little more than half his current age when they had met; neither knowing much about the other until after love had bloomed. But he was already approaching forty and well established in running his share of the family business. A powerful son of an even more powerful family, he had - merely by the circumstance of birth - that which so many worked their whole lives for. Some achieved the life he was born into, most did not. But many had something that, for him, did not yet exist. The one. The one with whom he would gladly commit to an exchange of hearts. Certainly, it wasn't too much to ask. Certainly, she must exist.

He looked up, his gray eyes following the screeching gulls that had interrupted his reverie. They slowly traversed the coast; looking for left-behind scraps to scavenge. They may find nothing, but they are always hopeful. No other sounds except the sails gently flapping in the wind; the waves lazily buffeting past his boat. Hopeful... Finding the one may be as difficult as searching the ocean beneath his sloop for a single, special drop of water. Whoever and wherever she is, I will exert every effort to find her. I will not concede.