Beach, the place where you wander, lost, looking for a start when it all commences drifting into failure, when no one else can talk you into sanity but the emotionless sea. Nothing lives in it, the still sea, a dead pond arraying a silvery coat on those gloomy hazy days, those twilighted mornings when you look up only to see doubt, a grey mass of nothing floating above you, an infinite sky adorned with an infinity of stars, however, not a single one seems to be willing to shed some light upon you.
Perhaps they see you as unworthy of it. Will they burn themselves in vain, patiently expecting your gratitude? A hopeless wondering man who encased himself in his own darkness, struggling to heal is rotten core by his own means. He doesn’t crave help, he demands loneliness instead. He is a fool, an ignorant self-blinding ghost picturing life as too deceased to return again.
Will any celestial body ever bend to a man’s dispositions, aiming to give him what he confidently runs from? Will there be a chance for this already dead and gone heart? A chance to relove and relearn, not through remembering but instead by reliving? Will he have his life again or is he too in love to love his own self and ask for one last chance?
Beach, the place where you watch, vigilant, scanning the unaltered golden shore for traces of ancient tides, but you find only rusty coins, vague remains of the never ending wealth stolen from you. Something you stupidly borrowed with intent of keeping, something you could but shouldn’t have taken. Yet you did, and now you long… You collect those spoils left behind, dumb, your grieving head tells you to do it, to melt them all together and shape a replica of the old glory you once possessed. Yet the coins, they lack, and you cry, for you miss them so much.
What’s lost, has left for a reason, maybe there were nuances you can’t explain nor understand, situations you may have not even caused. Your simple existence broke her away, flew her apart. And as you, impotently watched her once go, you will here be, paralysed, incapable of making her return as well. Her soft and weak but restless desire to fleet, will always be a thousand times stronger than your trembling need for her stay. And there she goes, free and gone, gone to probably lose track of life, following her independent pulsing heart, unfortunately beating for another guy, at least for an illusory while, it won’t last though as she doesn’t know what it means or feels to be in love. A smooth stranger who will hurt her like you would never dare, an outsider who will taint her blind chest with empty promisses of passion. And she will believe it and innocently ache, and that pain you feel in her, while you watch from a distance, that hurt will torture you a thousand times more than it haunts her.
And so you keep walking, carrying the weight of love alongside the crashing foam, barefoot and barely alive, but still you move while you mourn and perhaps, one day, you won’t need any more mourn to keep on moving.