Warm air cascades from the fire. Providing a comforting relief from the frigid evening air that tickles my back. The amber glow illuminates the surrounding area. The soft crackling of the drift-wood in the fire brings back memories of my adolescence. These voices of my memory talk of a time when there was not a worry in the world…
Whoosh, the low rumble of the waves hammering the shore spiked for a bit, then mitigated. Whoosh, another marshmallow is lodged on a worn stick. Whoosh, we gossip gently of the girl that we saw earlier today.
The fresh evening air is weaved and intertwined with the occasional puff of warm air swirling from the fire. As we speak my toes casually sift through the sands of time. It is as I am searching for a treasure that has long been forgotten. Embers whirl and twirl up from the fire. Up, up, up, into the deep, dark heavens beyond. The bright, red and orange embers are like our discussions, only there for a moment, then gone. Forgotten forever in the vast emptiness of time and space. It feels so great to let go of all my feelings, and just sit on the beach and be.
The moon is shy tonight. Wisps of cloud conceal his pimpled face. His glow can still be seen, though. It lights up the clouds like a spotlight behind rice paper, illuminating its every crevasse. Flaunting its own imperfections too. As the clouds sombrely swish by, I hear the waves crash on the shore once again, washing away all my worries. I feel a sense of serenity. Clean thoughts and feelings. There is no violence and hatred here.
The conversations have almost died down now. Just small talk about how nice the sky is tonight. No marshmallows either, just an empty packet. I yawn lazily. My eyelids are faltering. They are being seduced by the soft crash of the waves. The crackling fire is soothing, and makes the beach seem like a sofa, all warm and squishy. As I lie down, my back sinks in to the soft cushions. I close my eyes and just listen to the crash of the waves and murmuring of the voices around me.
With every crash, another life is created. Who cares what they look like? I am proud the world is still moving. Existing... Living. Right now, we have no fears. No worries. No bothers. Just peace.
The moon has seemed to gain its confidence now. It is high in the sky. It has shoved the clouds away, and is not embarrassed by its many holes and craters. But there is no crackling now. The fire has gone. Just the burnt out stick of our hopes and dreams. Our conversations and gossips. Left to rot on the beach. But, even though the fire has gone, we're still here. The moon is too. It's not afraid. Nor are we.
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