The ocean-Prose

Life is just like the ocean. Fluid motion, waves splashing every moment. Walking up the bleak street, it felt like I was in noir. No need for someone to pop out with a revolver and do the deed; I was already done. My life had been a hurricane, blasting at 140 mph. My feet were molded to the ground. All I could do was brace for the destruction you left me. Why did you leave me?. I took a drag from my cigarette, exhaling the smoke, which formed a cloud of depression. The waves still crash at night. I gazed at our old house from a distance. So close, yet so far, the ocean is my life.