Soft sand filters through my toes. A small shell, unearthed, rests at my feet, longing for the sea, now an empty vessel of a former life and lost memories. It nudges, and slowly tumbles down and finds a place in the sand, slightly engraving it in its position. It hopes for high tide to sweep it away and take it back to its rightful place.
Quiet, nonchalant wind stirs the salt; my senses pick up the fine damp grains. The salt sinks in my taste buds and nose. I am thirsty. Calm waves gently hug the wet sand and let go, only to return, restlessly, taking what it can from each hug, but returning for more.
The seashell waits.
Orange against blue and purple and red, the sun shyly hides behind cloud sheets, reluctantly saying goodbye. She, too, emerges, every now and then, from behind the sheets and veils, to have a look, cry a tear that smudges the colors of the sky, and hide away. She knows, this time, when she veils herself, it will be the last time. The last goodbye.
Cooler now, calmer, the waves recede. The sea, now a lake, is still. The wind followed the sun, the sea followed the sun. Lake now a puddle, the waves far away, everything quiet, purple, silent. The sea shell, unmoved, out of place, home now far away. Solitude wears the silence as a suit. No moon tonight. Only some stars. In their empty black home.
Until tomorrow, I wait.