Compatible beauty and simplicity as a wave of consistent affection embarks on the shores when the seagulls are screaming. A wave of passion, rationality, infatuation and memory with reason. A wave that would not be willing to swallow the shoreline without forecast. This wave that allures the recent visitors in a promenade of destiny and much mended faith, a wave that extends across the worlds largest ocean of the Pacific and thrives in the calm willing reefs and rustled up feeding grounds of the distant, sunken, obscure jewels to be prized. A flood foreclosing the now dry soon to be damp destiny, a tide twisting and turning to uphold a white cap belonging, a simple stir in the memorized surf to swish and swell upon occupied sand, an embarked resting place for the non-satisfied travelers. Fluctuating, imitating, vacillating, interchanging, exchanging, hesitant natural beings just wandering their land to embrace a new home with each coming high tide. A harmonized, regarded range of masterpieces to visit but still correlate renaissance. Such fascination and delicacy whenever the waves return to the same place for the high tide, the elegance of polished pebbles and soaked grains of sand. This feeling is enough to recreate a dampened hope or a rugged figure, this emotion drowns the worries and sets the sun, it applies growth to millions and welcomes shipwrecked toes. This place, this beach right here means the world to me, it has come to be my stunning, one of a kind, silver lining and it’s almost impossible to say thank you to such a place, but wrapped in the tide is all I ever wanna be.
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