I stand where the water meets the land, the salt clinging to my skin like an old memory that refuses to wash away. The ocean is endless, and today, it feels like a mirror, reflecting everything I’ve tried to bury beneath its surface. I watch the waves roll in, their whispers tugging at me, pulling at something buried deep, something I haven’t yet learned how to name.
The horizon stretches out before me, bleeding into the sky, a place where everything I’ve lost hovers—untouchable, unreachable. It’s not the first time I’ve stood here, staring into the blue abyss, hoping the answers might emerge from beneath the surface. But the ocean doesn’t offer answers. It simply is, vast and unmoved by my presence.
I walk along the shore, leaving footprints that won’t last. The sand is soft beneath my feet, giving way with every step, and yet I feel anchored here, as though I’m meant to remain still, to listen. The tide ebbs and flows, erasing every mark I leave behind, but I can still feel the imprint of my steps. I know where I’ve been, even if no one else does. Even if the ocean itself forgets.
There’s a kind of comfort in the way the waves carry on, in the way the sea never questions its place in the world. It just moves. Seagulls cry overhead, cutting through the quiet with their sharp calls, reminding me that life goes on, that the world keeps spinning even when I don’t feel a part of it.
I think about everything I’ve left behind. The choices. The people. The memories that cling to me like the salt in the air. It’s all fragments now, pieces of a life that no longer fits neatly into a narrative. Some days, I’m not even sure what the story was supposed to be. But standing here, at the edge of the world, it’s hard to ignore the weight of everything I’ve been carrying. The ocean, in its indifference, offers a strange kind of solace. It pulls me in, deeper, as though inviting me to let go.
I move closer to the water, feeling the wet sand beneath my feet, the coolness of the ocean’s edge brushing against my skin. I want to step into it, to let the water wrap around me, pulling me under, quieting the noise in my head. There’s something about the unknown that feels safer than the world I’ve been walking through.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, the tide rising and falling at my ankles, but eventually, the sky begins to darken, and I know I need to leave. The ocean doesn’t have answers, but maybe it’s the questions that matter. Maybe standing still and listening is the point.
As I turn to walk away, I realize the ocean doesn’t care if I come or go. It will keep crashing against the shore, erasing every trace I leave behind, but I’ll remember. I’ll carry the sound of the waves, the taste of salt, the pull of something deeper with me.
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As I was looking for a picture, a memory really, I stumbled across a picture of my feet being tickled by the shore and I was inspired to write this. There is something about the ocean that makes me happy, it also makes me think about how small I am or how big I am. Both, actually. I love the ocean and the waves. It’s a place of calm and serenity. Something I crave often for myself but can’t have. Seeing the ocean, feeling the waves – that’s a luxury for me.
reflections of an unquiet mind 