Rinse and Repeat
I live in a cottage by the sea. Alone.
The kettle whistles shrilly, and the wind echoes in the empty space I inhabit, reminding me of my solitude. And yet, I have not given up the hope that I may one day fill it.
Each morning I walk to the sea, my hope rising with the sun. Yes, I walk alone now, but I do not always have to. It will not always be this way.
At least that is what I tell myself.
The wind pushes me on, forcing each step. It moves me to shift and change with the tides each new day brings. I carve all the driftwood the tides drag in, making beautiful sculptures out of their once ugly figures .
Whatever the wind drags in is mine. And I treasure it all.
The trash and nets and carcasses are my decoration. My company. My friends. The sea shells and sand dollars are the rare moments of beauty in a scratchy and sandy wasteland. They are tangled in seaweed, but are worth the trouble of rummaging for.
These are my treasures. The things I care for and love with my whole heart. They become of me.
But once I have finished my walk and collected my treasure, I can do nothing but stand helplessly as the tide carries it all back out to sea, and my heart sinks with the sun.
Day after day. Rise and fall. Rinse and repeat.
My hope, my love, my blind faith in what could be, it all endures. I cannot say why. I cannot say for how much longer.
But one day the tides will not carry my treasures out to sea. And they will be mine to cherish and love forever.
At least that is what I tell myself