Page 58 of 365: Clear the Haze (creative writing)



It’s a Friday night and I’m feeling overly creative and a desire to write romantic dialogue. Last time I posted a creative writing piece on here I used a picture as my inspiration and I found it particularly poignant, so I’m doing it again.

I hope you enjoy it!

We always went down to the beach together. He was one of those photography types – if he didn’t have his beloved camera in his hand he twitched like he had a condition. He didn’t like going alone though – he said he liked having a subject but I know that most of his pictures aren’t of me.

He loved the beach, he loves staring out into what looks so calm and knowing that the waters beneath are anything but – sometimes he tells me these extravagant stories about mermaids and sirens and nymphs. He’s like Peter Pan – nothing was ever, simple, still.

He captured the best moments with that lens – he always caught me when I was laughing and I didn’t look like the wind blew the wrong way, he caught me at the peak of my jump; he caught me when I least expected it.

Whenever he wanted to go for a ‘photography walk’, I picked a new book. His ‘walks’ – “Only an an hour or two, I promise!” – always turned into days. 

We’d go for breakfast at our favourite cafe, I’d get pancakes and he’d have a bacon sandwich and as many extras as he could get from winking at the waitress. After that we’d either walk through town, to the woods or to a tiny park on the other side of town.

We’d skip lunch, staying out whilst he found new ways to get photos of things he already had pictures of, and wonder back into town around mid afternoon where he’d buy me a hot chocolate as an apology for spending so long taking photos and I’d let him, every time.

And then we’d go to the beach – we’d go to where the pebbles stopped and walk along the coast until the pebbles stopped again, conveniently close to home. We usually watched the sun set whilst sat on the little concrete wall, listening to the sounds of the waves. 

This is where he got his most beautiful photos – he always made the rays of orange sunlight look somehow more beautiful. One of the photos he took of me was my profile pictures on twitter for about a year, it’s absolutely stunning and definitely not because I’m the subject.

Today was different – the sky was clouded over and the dimming light was not worth taking photos of murky grey waves lapping lamely at the pebbles.

He was stood out on a stone-built groyne, his camera strap hung on his shoulder as he held the camera against his hip – his toes dangerously close to the edge; his eyes downcast into the water. I was sat on the wall, my book closed in my hands.

“Do you ever think about it?” He called to me.

“What?” I called back, tucking my book into my bag and my cold hands into my pockets as I walked towards him.

“Jumping in.” He whispered, feeling my presence next to him.

I tensed, instantly worried about where this may lead. “No, I’ve never been this close before.” I mumbled.

He sighed. “Sometimes, when I’m editing my photos, I just want to be swallowed by it. To listen to the waves from the other side – where everything’s muted and unfocused.”


“Because then I’d have a reason to not understand.” He paused, continuing when I said nothing. “Everything’s muted and unfocused anyway, so I might as well jump in the water right?” His voice sounded taught – desperately trying to keep a hold on whatever he was feeling.

I bit my lip – his distress made tears sting my eyes. I reached my hand into his palm – my cold fingers so comfortable in his warm grip as he clung to me; as if to keep him safe.

“No. You shouldn’t jump. You need to find someone who clears the haze.” I whispered. I glanced up at him – watching tears roll down his cheeks but he continued to stare at the sea.

His hand clung tighter to mine and he sighed again. “Why do you think I spend so much time with you?”

My gaze flicked up to him again, somewhat surprised – still holding his hand. “Y-you do?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know how you didn’t know this.”

“I never- but you- I wanted-” I sighed, laughing with him. “You’re a moron.”

“Your moron.”

“I want you to be.”

“I can be?”




I love a bit of nervous, bumbling, romantic dialogue.

Please leave any feedback in the comments!

Thanks for reading,

Sophie xx

That’s where you’ll find me:
My GoFundMe Page for my trip to Ecuador:
Snapchat: @SophieALuckett

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