Early
morning when the sand is practically untouched, the sun beats on your back,
probing you to chat,
With yourself.
You dig
through wet grains of salty earth;
You beg
the tide for answers.
You pull,
dragging a trail behind you. In hopes of
a profound something, that will answer what’s tugging at your heart. What’s keeping your eyes open past the sun
slipping…
Down,
Down
Down.
When did
you become so…
Down.
The waves like a massage for the unclear mind and the anxious heart.
You only hope to bring a few grains home tucked in between each crack your my mind.
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