She is the receding tide.
She rushes my shore, laughing silver as she chatters over the pebbles. She brings in the promise of bright shells. Her waves break beautifully upon my beach.
She gives the illusion of growing closer with every dancing movement.
And yet she is really slipping further away with every tumbling conversation, every gorgeous toss of her hair, every liquid smile. She is receding steadily, leaving furrows on my brow in her wake.
I am becoming lost in the sight of her always distant ocean.
I should kick over these impossible castles of sand and air.
I should head for home.
This will never be my seaside.