Painting her breath

She was breathing.Her every breath was deliberate, like a whisper. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. She was breathing. The sea waves swept her, throwing her on the sandy turf and then drawing her back, as if they couldn't make up their mind, as if they wouldn't let go. Those waters heard her breathing. Her eyes glistened in the sun, but they weren't celebrating life. Their hollowness could pierce through his soul.Her naked back faced heaven, and rose every time she drew the air in. Her arms spread out to capture his existence, in vain. Her hands clutched the sand she wouldn't let go of, ever. Not even if he told her to. Colours splashed the sky. He struck that canvas with anger. His wrath created beauty. Sadness pervaded it. She was breathing. As if every breath she drew was to extol her being, to see him perish before her eyes. Her long crimson hair, the only part of her soul she couldn't control, flowed with the waves. Her body swayed with the sea and rose with her breath. It seemed as if she were relishing the moment. Her smile didn't give it away. Nor did the tear drop, washed away by the salty waters. She breathed every breathe, mocking him. Those whispers were louder than waves crashing on the shores. That deriding smirk. She lay there. Breathing. Relishing. Fighting.