A young woman, hair matted from the breeze and lips chapped from the salt, stands and smiles at the sky. She does this once a week, at least. She stands on the tallest rock she can find on the bay, and reaches towards the sun- towards me. I offer her nothing but shadows. (I am nothing like the sun; The sun gives everything; I give nothing; The sun shines all the time, I can not.) But, sometimes, if I pretend just right, I can imagine the woman smiling at me. 

The first night she ever stayed with me, the wind was crashing against the sea and the rocks were being swallowed up. She was so much younger; She barely came up to the shortest rock on the shore- and that rock was quickly drowned by the waves. It was the type of storm that comes too fast to do anything about it. She tried to run, sprinted in the direction she always leaves from but she soon gave up and collapsed to the ground. I watched as she crawled under the bridge separating the East from the West. I tried to reach out and help her. She felt nothing, because no one ever did. I watched over her that night. Stayed awake even when she was sound asleep. Eventually, the wind relaxed back into the clouds, the sand stopped feeling like cuts as it blew through the air and the water released the rocks from drowning but either too tired, or too hungry, to head back home, she found her way to me. She sat under my shade for… I don’t know and I enjoyed it too much to bother counting. I had never felt such happiness. Looking at her was one thing, watching her excitement of standing in the sun, but this- her laying in my shade- was incomparable. This was the first of many times she would come back. 

Many years passed. But, my girl continued to come back. Sometimes, she was gone for long periods of time. She would return- still beautiful, always beautiful- but looking sickly and as if the weight of the world could bring her to her knees at any moment. However, today was the kind of day she stopped men dead in their tracks. She was rejuvenated, fully alive, and

staring at the sky with the kind of love one normally saves for romance but, she gave this look to everything as if her love couldn't be contained. 

I wasn’t in love with anything. What a pair we were. 

The first time I ever saw the young man, he walked as if he was five-hundred pounds and hobbled along- seemingly much older than he was. As a teenage boy, he visited the rocky shore every single day. He would sit down and stare at the water until his tears mixed with the salt of the ocean. No one, no matter how many days he sat on the rock, ever joined him. If I remember correctly, he came everyday for quite some time. 

Then, he started coming, coincidentally, at the exact same time as she did. She stands on my West side, and him to the East and they do not know that the other exists. I’ve tried to use my hands to push them closer; I have never succeeded. 

I don’t know exactly what happened the day that they met. Maybe they got their directions mixed up or maybe the sun was finally ready for them to meet (It has so much more control than me) but, whatever the case, they were on the same side. The young man stopped in his tracks, as they all do. Instead of crying, though, he sat on a rock and stole glances at her. She kept her gaze to the sky pretending to pay no attention to him. I watched as she, secretly, looked at him too. 

Somehow, no matter how random the day, they came at the exact same time- never saying anything to each other. They would both steal glances; this was their own game of cat and mouse. But never, not once, would they speak. 

3 weeks to the day after meeting for the first time, the young man came to me, with his nicest t-shirt on and flowers. He looked to the sky seemingly saying a prayer to the sun, before turning to the young woman. I could not hear them from all the way up here. There is smiling.

The woman smiles the smile she always has, even more love is put into those beautiful straight teeth and the man smiles for the first time- and then, suddenly, they are kissing. He lifts her off her feet and spins her around like the waves toss seashells on to shore. 

I never saw them apart after that. 

The young woman’s smile is now undoubtedly directed towards him (not me, or the sun.) I don’t mind that I no longer get her attention but the sun starts setting faster, leaving less time for her to soak up the daylight and be with the love of her life. They, often, do not leave the bay for hours upon hours on end. They will bask in the daylight like cats, and when the sun goes to sleep they will lie in the moonlight like wolves. 

I can not see past the bridge that separates the East and the West but they would often disappear, holding hands, into the abyss of my unknowing sight. I do not know what lies past the bridge but I imagine they would run through fields, eat meals that make their bellies expand, and fall deeper in love with one another for, every time they return, hearts seem to cloud their vision and make it impossible for them to see anything but one another. Not even me. I continue not to mind (the sun continues to complain). 

Days and weeks and months and years go by. They come to visit me every week, reminiscing on where they met and everything that brought them together. Their hearts are nothing like the tide that changes every hour, they are immovable. They never pay attention to the sun’s works of art, when they stay out for too long, too wrapped up in each other to care about what the sky is doing. 

One day, I remember, it is more than just them that show up to the rocks. They bring along six people. My girl is dressed to imitate the foam of the ocean, and my boy holds matching roses, wearing his most dashing clothes. They kiss in the exact same spot they did the first time.

He spins her around and she runs a hand through his salty colored hair. They howl and cheer at the sky then disappear past the bridge shortly after, but not before leaving the bouquet of roses at the base of me. 

As years go by, their visits become few and far between. They take so long to return sometimes I feel as if I am the only one in the world. 

Until, suddenly it seems, they come everyday. They are closer, to me, than ever. They are giving me a job again. The sign that has hung on me since the beginning of time, gets removed and rejuvenated. A lightbulb gets replaced. They paint and sand and tear down. They build me back up. I have a purpose again. They spend so much time on me that I look brand new. The man never leaves me and we become impossibly close. 

I am reconstructed. I shine brighter than the sun. 

The months grew cold, then warm, then cold again.The sun continues to protest by only remaining in the sky for a few hours at a time. Even I can not stay warm. The old man starts to struggle up the stairs and the old woman rests on the rocks for him to get finished with his job. Some days, he does not come at all and the woman can never fill in; Her wheels can not get up the stairs made for two working legs. 

He can no longer spin her when they kiss and when she runs her hands through his hair, they tremble. No longer does his hair just have a sprinkle of salt, it is as white as the foaming waves. He brings her flowers, when he can. He kisses her every time they relax on the rocky shore. He looks at her with just as much love as always. Love that I can see from all the way up here. Love that I selfishly dream of. 

He leaves my light on all the time so I can do my part and do my job without him.

Another year passes, my boy and my girl do not visit often. 

It has been so long that my light dulls and I am weathered by the ocean crashing into me. I rot and cry and strain against the sea. Still, they do not return. I curse the sun. 

The sun mocks me in my misery. 

Too long passes, the old man returns alone. I do not know where the woman has gone; he does not do our job, he only stares out at the water and cries. His tears mix with the salt of the ocean. Nobody joins him. 

He makes the same climb he has made a thousand times before but this time it's as if each step is more difficult than the last. The stairs cry and creak under his weight. He takes many breaks, looking out to the ocean, the bridge, where they met, past the horizon line, up at the billions of souls shining brightly. His knees buckle under the weight of his tears; I tried to reach out and help him. 

He pays no mind to my railing. He climbs over the rusting metal bars and looks down at the rocky shore below. The water has receded, as if knowing his tears were too much. The night sky calls to him, reflected by the ocean. The sun doesn’t stop him. 

The black abyss gains two new stars that week. They shine impossibly bright, right next to one another, never to be separated again. 

I stand alone.  

I continue to do my job. I warn the ships on their way.

I warn them against love and loss. I warn them against living. I warn them against dying. I warn them against caring. They hear none of this. My warnings, they assume, are just that the rocky shore is near. 

I keep my distance from anyone on the shore. I wait, endlessly, for the days to pass and the nights to come back where I can look out and stare at my boy and my girl. When no one is around, my light turns off just to see them, together, in their full shining glory.