The Truth About Yearning

I traipse along the ends of oncoming waves, digging my toes in the sand, a blinker of sunlight from the horizon pulls at my gaze - hope. My heart opens, I let out a breath of relief, a release. This is it. The accompanying wind as I draw breaths of air, a luxury. Releasing each with tender carefulness so as not to overwhelm the heart that keeps its promise, eager.

I stop myself.

What if…

I reach out for the beautiful rose that lay before my feet, careful to avoid the thorns. A substantial sniff, despite the absence of odor, for the pure sake of gesture. Beautiful. For a second, I’m oozing absolute exuberance.

Before…

Blop.

I loosen my grip.

The rose scatters several sand particles upon landing.

Blop.

A pinch, with pain that remains long lasting.

Blop.

I lift my thumb from the source of the throbbing pain, it draws red.

Thorns… Sneaky thorns.

I lift my gaze to rest on the promise of the horizon. It remains. Beckoning.

I smile. The pain sustained before outweighed by the beauty of nature. I bite my lip, almost hating myself. How could I overlook such daily wonder, unsolicited gifts the universe constantly provides, with the promise of unfailing remembrance?

I took a step. My right foot sinking into the hot dry sand.

I took a step. My left sinks deeper into sand resting underneath the waves.

I took a step. The horizon awaits.

I took a step. It beckons.

I took a step. It promises.

I took a step. It is unbelievably real.

I took a step. I believe.

I took a step.

…

…

Darkness.

Pure and cold.

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