This is just a little piece I wrote thislast weekend while on vacation with my room mates in Maimi.
There is nothingness by the sea.
It's hard to notice in the day, when tourists and their loud, tanned children scream into the surf, drowning out the songs the waves sing. You hear happiness, contrite, shallow happiness and the wideness of the ocean is broken up by kayaks, floats and swimmers, and the sand, the beaten down rocks that are hugged by the tide are dug up and poles are poked in and towels laid out...
It's hard to notice that the ocean can swallow you when the masses are disrupting the message.
And if you catch the beach empty in the morning, the loneliness is muted by the capped off, blueing sky.
But at night, when the blackness is infinite, with the ocean can plainly swallow you whole...
You sort of wish you could melt into the earth, actually be apart of something so large and wild instead of experiencing pieces of it, observing it. You want to be wild. The animal in you aches for release.
But behind you there are hotels, a fence, concrete and boardwalk, shops and arcades where the little tourists go and hide when the dark is too much and the false safety of the sun and the lifeguards are away.
But if you face the horizon, you can forget civilization. You can forget yourself.
At least, until you turn around.
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