The Beach ¶
There’s water. There’s the massive expanse of waves and ripples, like an all-encompassing Juggernaut, throwing itself around until it crumbles into the sand.
There’s the sand. The mixture of crushed rocks, broken bottles, stubbed cigarettes and dichotomies in which you can bury yourself comfortably.
The wind. The wanton wind which runs along your skin, eloping with all your worries, leaving you inebriated with peace.
The reflections. The imitations of reality in broken pieces of glass that could cut your foot as they embellish the sand, trying to capture the truth but only really lying. The reflection of the burning sun setting in the wet sand, a soothing lie.
The salt. The humidity that sticks to your skin, making you want to purge yourself of the horrible past that stains the fabric of your life like grease.
The horizon. The blurring intersection of the water, the sand, and the future, the end of your journey, seemingly close but surprisingly far.
The peace. That very peculiar sense of absolute calm when there are a million things floating around in your head and your thinking of nothing in particular.
The transient bubble of the beach envelopes you in it’s tranquility.