The saddest are these,

I’ve been working non-stop for weeks, only stopping to eat or sleep. It’s almost superhuman, the commitment I’ve demonstrated. I’ve never been so driven in my life, it’s almost as if my life depends on it.

I see her working away with her usual vigour and I'm reminded yet again how attracted I am to her. I watch for a moment, but refocus on the task at hand. I wouldn’t dare let her believe that I’d be sidetracked over some trivial crush.

It’s so much more than that, but how do I explain that to her? I couldn’t begin without her thinking I was trying to manipulate her for selfish gratification, so it’s best to let my actions speak for themselves.

My legs are shaking and my grip is failing, but I keep pushing through the painful muscle cramps, lest I display any signs of weakness. My relationship with pain is bordering on masochism since I keep telling myself that working through the suffering will make me more attractive to her. Maybe that’s my own toxic view of masculinity, but she rarely seems to notice either way. She’s always laser-focussed on some important goal, so I do my best to be the same way. I always catch myself finding tasks that bring me closer to her so she can get a good view of my work ethic, but somehow she always ends up out of sight. Part of me can’t help but get offended when she ignores me.

How can she just brush me off like that? Anyone in their right mind would be amazed by me at this point.

I feel deflated when I can’t see her.

'No,'

I tell myself,

'Those kinds of thoughts would only turn her off.'

And with that, I’m back to work.

Sure, it feels good to see all that I’ve done here. I always knew I could do great things, but never had a good enough reason. But Goddamn, do I ever have one now.

“Angelina,” I shout reflexively, “Come here for a minute.”

I couldn’t help myself. I want to show her what I’ve done. Suddenly I realise I’ve just pulled her away from her work, and I’d better have a good reason.

'Dammit, I’m like a kid running to show off his macaroni art.'

I lose my footing and slip right as she shows up.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” She exclaims, running over to me.

“Yeah, I was just hoping you’d have gotten here before I wiped out.”

'Perfectly believable,' I thought.

“Well, sorry. I was doing something kinda important,” she recanted.

'She seemed upset by that comment. That’s not good.'

“No no, of course. I would never suggest that- I mean I know whatever you’re doing is super important- I mean, not "whatever you’re doing", but your work is just as important as..”

'Dammit, why am I like this?'

“..you know.” I decided it was best to wrap it up before I put any more feet in my mouth.

“Not bad, Parker,” she says, admiring the makeshift bed I’ve mounted in a tree.. Thankfully, she’s quicker to move on from things than I am. God knows I’ll be reliving this experience for the foreseeable future.

“You like it? I thought it might be a good idea to get off the ground at night.” I brush myself off and join her in admiring my work.

“You never fail to impress me. You truly are amazing,” she says.

Whenever she says things like that, my heart races, and I can’t look away from her. I never get tired of hearing her voice, which would make the most pleasant sounding bird self-conscious. She could whisper in a warzone and I'd be in bliss. She glances briefly back at me before heading off to her own labours, and I’m still in a trance. I watch her beautiful body move out of sight while I fantasize about a terrible storm that drives her into my arms for warmth and-

I shake the thought out of my head.

'These thoughts never end up anywhere good,' I remind myself. It’s one of the hardest things to do sometimes, but I refocus and get to work on a second bed.

Nightfall.

The days are long and hard, but the nights are dreadful, and seem to last forever. As I’m laying in my bed, suspended from a tree, I have time to appreciate its quality. I’m beyond comfortable, and I gave her the better of the two, so I can only imagine she’s thinking the same thing. The view is spectacular, the padding is soft, and we’re somewhat protected from the wind and rain, but we can watch and listen to the waves crashing rhythmically on the shore. I watch them for a while, trying to think peaceful thoughts.

She starts running through my mind, and I make no effort to stop it. My mind is swimming in fantasies of her so real I can almost feel her beside me. Nothing makes me feel more alone, but it’s the only thing that allows me any sleep. I imagine her lying in my arms and inhale deeply. I hold the thought of her scent in my lungs for a few moments before slowly releasing it. It’s an addictive fantasy, but it makes me feel like my heart is being strangled. If only she knew how I feel about her. A part of me believes that she must know. I feel I’ve been clear, and she’s a smart girl.

Tomorrow’s another opportunity.

Sure enough, she’s already working by the time I wake up. She’s making snares and there’s water boiling over a fire. It seems like she has already been up for some time. I shake off the grogginess and walk over to exchange pleasantries.

“Morning, Ange.” I say with a cheery smile.

“Hey.” She smiles back at me.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask her.

“Not bad” She makes no comment on her new sleeping quarters.

“Need a hand?”

'Please say yes,' I think to myself

“No, I think I got this.”

'Of course she does...'

“Of course you do! You crazy overachiever, you. How’d you get so good at stuff?”

“I guess I just wanted it more than some people.”

She’s being humble. She knows things come a lot easier to her than most, but she also knows it’s a bad look to boast about such things.

“I’m gonna head to the drive-thru.” I smile at her again. I look for a moment longer and try to burn her image into my memory before walking off into the brush.

I’ve created a fairly simple morning routine of checking traps and gathering fresh water. It's not quite an easy task, but it buys me about an hour before I have to come up with a productive goal for the day. Most of that hour is spent daydreaming about her.

I return with a decent haul of morsels. She seems to be lost in thought until she sees me, but she sends me the warmest smile as I drop the haul onto the preparation table.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” I ask.

“Just how lucky I am to have someone as great as you here with me.”

There she goes again. She HAS to know, right?

I don’t know if it’s her tone or her big brown eyes, but I feel weak and anxious at the same time.

“Well, takes one to know one.” I chuckle at her.

I’m grateful I’m already sweaty from the trip and she can't see how nervous I am.

We sit near each other on the same side of the burning embers in the pit and finish our breakfast.

I guess this is as good a time as any, I think to myself.

“Hey, I wrote something. I was wondering if I could get your opinion on it.”

“Yeah, show me!” She says enthusiastically.

I recite a poem I wrote for her, staring at the coals.

;

“She won't admit that she's the best

But she runs circles round the rest

So when men approach with inflated chests

She’s right to be so unimpressed

She lives and breathes with class & style

Enraptured are her peers, beguiled

She's nature's child, her spirit's wild

Could tame a shark with just a smile

Passionate, an Aphrodite

Her will persuades the strong and mighty

Reminds me of the break of dawn

Inspiring, warm & just as sightly”

I look up and meet her gaze as I continue.

“For the wise who care to listen

She's so much more than just a vixen

Qualities like her's come once a lifetime

and sorry are the fools who miss them

Sugar, spice, and all things good

She's just carved from different wood

A million things I wish to say

These are some I feel I should.”

Her eyes are glossed over, and there’s a tear rolling down her face.

“Did you like it?” I ask sheepishly.

“That was… amazing,” she says, “you have such a beautiful mind. Do you write whatever comes into your imagination, or from personal experiences?”

“I have a very active imagination, but I can't fake being in love.” I replied.

This isn't the first time I wrote her a poem. She always seems to like them. I’m sure she knows they’re about her. At least I hope she does.

Ever since we met, she behaved in a particularly suggestive manner around me. Every phone call, every text, every provocative photo she sent me of herself (with an innocent excuse like wanting to show off her tattoos or a favourite article of clothing) indicated she was as attracted to me as I was to her. And when we were together, she behaved equally suggestively as long as her then-boyfriend Bernard wasn’t around. I had every indication that my feelings were reciprocated, but I’ve been wrong about these things before, and I feared that if I made a direct advance at her, she would discount my love to an amorous compulsion. I wanted only to prove my devotion, and if Bernard didn’t treat her the way she deserved, there was a man ready to sacrifice everything and all comforts to make her happy. In the end, I waited until they progressed into marriage without ever disclosing forthright how enamoured I was of her, and I live with the tormenting thoughts of what could have been.

“Anyways, I’m gonna go see if I can’t put together some kind of fishing boat. I bet there’s good food in that water.” I stand up and walk away. My whole insides feel wrong.

I should have stayed a bit longer. I should have kissed her right there!

While I’m chipping away at my new project, she’s putting together smoke signals in case some travellers happen to pass in the vicinity. We've been on this island for months. The only reason I know that is because she makes a point of counting the days since the royal screw-up.

We were on vacation and had rented some jet-skis for the weekend, but didn't get any conducive weather until the night before we had to return them. It was no surprise to me that she insisted on making the most of it, and even if I was able to allow myself to miss out on such frivolous risk-taking, I couldn't let her go off and do something so dangerous by herself. Bernard, on the other hand, wasn't so easily persuaded.

The weather was only forgiving for so long, and eventually the currents became so strong we could hardly move against them, even at full throttle, in the infinite darkness of the ocean at night. When the small engines consumed the last of their fuel, we had no choice but to float in the waves for almost two days before drifting onto this island. We were both weak from hunger, sun-stricken and severely dehydrated, but after seeing her in that state I knew I’d fall over dead before I gave up.

I’m clumsily fumbling around, trying to teach myself the art of boat-building, but I have a hard time focusing on my task because all I can think about is being whisked away from this island when some traveller sees the smoke signals. I foresee looking back at this adventure. How I’d remember all the time I spent within arm’s reach of the person I love more than anything, but didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. I spend half my time thinking about what life could be like if I was somehow able to win her heart, and the rest working my knuckles to the bone to overcome the overwhelming sense that I’m not worthy of it.

After a long and frustrating day, Angelina and I are sitting around the fire.

“How’s the boat coming?” She asks.

“Poorly.” I answer straightforwardly with a small chuckle. “Turns out I’m no Shipwright. But I’m good at lots of other stuff!”

She laughs, but says nothing else.

“Hey, have I told you how much I appreciate everything you do to make sure we get by? You work so hard on getting us rescued, and I’m so grateful for it. You know, there’s nobody I’d rather be stuck here with. You really are something special.” I try making eye contact with her, but she just stares into the fire.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done.” She says dryly.

I nod, and we both look blankly into the flames for a few minutes.

“We’ll get our old lives back, Ange. One day. And you’ll get to see Bernard again. I'm sure he's looking forward to it as much as you are.”

She doesn’t even give the thought time to settle in her mind before getting up.

“Goodnight, Parker. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Ange.”

Bernard wasn’t a terrible husband to her. He didn’t abuse her, but that’s just about the only nice thing I know about him. I often wonder why she decided to be with him, when she could have anybody she wanted. She’s never had anything good to say about him. In fact, whenever he comes up in conversation, she is well armed with complaints. She deserves so much better, but that’s just my opinion.

I think about my favourite quote by John Whittier:

“For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, “it might have been.””

The rain is falling hard, and this night is as lonely as any other. The wind is howling obnoxiously, but drowned out by the screaming thoughts echoing in my skull. I’m restless and uncomfortable in my skin. This would be a perfect night for the comforting warmth of companionship.

The sound of frantic scurrying shakes me awake. I drop out of my bed chamber and see Angelina piling palm leaves onto the firepit and plumes of smoke billowing out from several pits scattered across the shoreline.

That’s oddly ambitious, even by her standards, I thought.

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As usual, I dropped out of the fancy hammock Parker made when I could no longer handle the intrusive thoughts. Those are what keep me working until I can’t keep my eyes open, and by the grace of God I’m usually able to fall asleep before my mind is hijacked.

It’s actually quite a nice hammock. He even made a canopy of brush and palm leaves so we were somewhat protected from the weather. He’s so thoughtful, and I really appreciate it, as well as all the other things he does for me. Well, for us, for our survival. I try to compliment him, but he always brushes it off and doesn’t seem to notice the sentiment. Or he does notice and doesn’t care for it, and it makes me feel rejected. Eventually I have to stop trying, it hurts too much to keep putting myself out there for someone who isn’t interested. I know this, but whenever he reads me poetry, my heart ignites and I think “What if I’m the girl?” but when he sees me staring at him with tears in my eyes, he just gets up and leaves me there, drowning in my own emotions. Whoever he’s writing about, she’s a lucky woman.

No, stop torturing yourself, I remind myself after catching yet another toxic fantasy wedging itself into my mind. I feel immensely guilty. I’m a taken woman, after all.

If only we could choose who we did and didn’t love. The longer I try to suffocate my feelings, the more persistent and consuming they become. With every passing day I inch closer to an emotional breakdown, so I pray for someone to come and take me away from this wretched place. Then I think of what I’d be coming home to.

I had a good life. Good enough, at least. I married a decent man, and we had some good times together. It wouldn’t be fair of me to complain, since a lot of people have it worse. Still, I often feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. I would never, and have never cheated on my partner, but I find myself hoping he does something so thoughtless and inconsiderate that I can run from him without feeling like a horrible person. I wish I could say he deserved that, but he doesn’t, and every time Parker enters my mind I’m almost brought to tears from the conflicting emotions.

I look towards the still-rising sun and see something spectacular in the corner of my vision. I nearly jump and gasp in disbelief.

“Oh my God!” I nearly trip over my feet running full-sprint to the fire pit, and pile some tinder and kindling into the centre. I grab the bow & spindle and start drilling, begging for smoke to appear. My hands are shaking and what’s usually a simple, everyday task is suddenly impossible.

“Come one, come on!” I cry.

I manage to create a smoulder and carefully nurture it into a flame. Once it’s strong enough to ignite larger wood, I grab a burning piece and start more signal fires in a panicked haze. This is the first chance we’ve ever had to alert someone of our presence, and I’m not going to waste it.

As I’m frantically building signals, Parker runs over to investigate. I shout orders at him with a shaky voice, and I can barely get the words out without sobbing violently, but I swallow hard and urge him to help until he runs off and ignites more signal fires.

We hysterically fan smoky flames for at least an hour. I know that our hopes are rapidly diminishing, but I won’t be the first one to stop.

My arms can barely hold their own weight, but I continue pathetically struggling to fan the fire with a large palm leaf. I see Parker walking towards me with a concerned look, and my heart feels crushed.

“Ange,” he says quietly.

“No... what if they turn around?” I beg, with tears in my eyes.

“What if they do? What happens then? Will everything be the way it was before we came here? Is that what you want?”

“I-... Wh-... I don’t…” I’m shocked and confused by his questions. Thankfully he goes on.

“If they do, that’s great, and I will be so happy to see you regain everything you feared was lost forever. But if they don’t, that’s ok, too, because I have more here than I ever imagined I’d be able to enjoy. I get to see you every day when I wake up. Together we share every burden, and we celebrate every little victory. Remember the first time we managed to cook a meal over a fire? And we danced and cheered around those tiny flames like they were the first we’d ever seen.

“If they do come back, if we are taken home to our old lives, I don’t want that to go away. You’re going to have everything you built for yourself, and you deserve to, but where does that leave me? I’ve only ever wanted to be with you. Everything I do, or have done since long before we arrived here, including many things you never see, is for you in some way or another.

“I wouldn’t be who I am without you. I cherish every moment we have together and constantly crave the next. I’m a better man because of you. Every single day since the one I met you, you came into my thoughts more than anything else. I’ve tried hopelessly in vain to pretend I’m not madly in love with you, but I’ve never felt so pathetically defeated as when I tried to imagine finding someone anywhere near as mesmerizingly perfect as you.

“Watching you love another man forced me to look desperately for someone I could love like I love you, but I’ve never met anyone who approached your wisdom, intelligence, compassion and radiant beauty. You are a brilliant sun among rocks, a drop of gold in a dark and endless sea.”

I’m paralyzed inside and out as he’s speaking. I know what’s happening, but my mind is in shock, and my heart is thumping, aching for him to continue.

“I never want to hide the truth from you again. You have your own plans, and a life with a man that isn’t me, I know. So this may be an unwelcome testimony, and perhaps you resent me for not being satisfied with our friendship. For that I apologise, but know that if nothing were to change and our friendship remains as it is, I will never cease to be here for you whenever you need me. My biggest fear is that our friendship will be jeopardised by my inability to mute my desire for you.

“Angelina, tell me you feel the same feelings that I’m expressing to you now, let’s lift every veil and conclude the subversive torment so we can seize every moment we have left together in the greatest capacity.

“Angelina, tell me that you crave my love the way I crave yours. Tell me that, and I will commit all my remaining breaths to returning the sheer delight that you bring me.”

As he says those last words, gazing deep into my eyes, I notice something in the distance, but I’m completely stunned and can’t bring myself to look away from him for even a moment.

It’s a speck in the sky in the corner of my watery, blurry vision, and I know what it is.

It's a message, and I only have enough control of my body to wrap my arms around him, bury my face into his chest, and sob.

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