The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts

Oceans & Shores

"Would you rather be an ocean or a shore?"

It was a question in life that she'd spent many years pondering. But after thirteen years of pure living, she'd found herself, and she knew what she was. And she'd come to the conclusion that just like in everything else, she yearned for what she could not have.

She'd always fancied herself an ocean; she was radiant. People admired her and viewed her as a thing of beauty. And beautiful, she was. They enjoyed her company greatly, when near her, but when away, her resilience faded in their dull memories. She began to become mundane, as they expected her to always be there. But such fools they were, because like any ocean, she was ephemeral. Waves do not stay in one place, and a wave she was.

She cursed her waining interest with all her heart, and tried so hard to stay. How she wished to be solid, dependable. How she yearned to be a shore. But she could never induce herself to do it, because solidity simply made her unhappy. She prayed that she would one day find somebody that didn't make her want to run; someone that would capture her interest and not let it go.

She loathed herself for such high standards, and she wanted to always be there; she wanted to be someone's rock, but she knew that would never happen. So after thirteen years of pure living, she'd accepted it, and she knew who she was. She was an ocean; she was a wannabe shore. And she'd given her last care thirteen years ago.