. . . Waves crash as sand lay motionless on the shore, except when eroded by the chilling sheet of majestic blue that would breach upon the rough, fine granules every few seconds. The waves compose a rhythm that could soothe and comfort the coarsest of souls. A girl laughing, or perhaps crying, sits with her feet barely in the water- just enough to feel it ebb-and-flow against her tiny toes. I would appear only after seeing this forbidden setting. A beach, so alien to me and yet embedded into many different variations of the same memory as if I were there. I can recall the smell of ocean spray, the taste of seawater in the air, and the many sounds produced by this area that meshes stable land with fluid ocean. Memories no one should possess . . .