He pulled out his Levi’s and jumped into the sand. The clinkers, bothered by the touch respond perpetually; so he looked for softer sand in comfort and left them untouched.
A breeze surfaced them to a grid.
Was it the concert he attended that made him look at it in retrospect and think of more ways to stay connected to him. Him, a separate person from separate walks of life with separate culture.
When three hands in enthusiasm danced at the concert, the lost hand in pocket was looking for something to uncomfort the human for it feared him when things go right and merrymaking pays.
Did he find anything?
Another breeze surfaced him to grid.
The sand had now begun to crawl into his shorts with his human movement. When that tickled, it reminded him of the intimacy they shared.
The waves got closer to his seat all along. Now, they touched him. Softly did they spread, softly did his legs adjust, slowly did it feel like a person.
A breeze yet again takes the water off shore.
Could this imaginary aspect of the life (he never led) bring some cream to bind it all? Do such stories he built up make him the person he wants to be or are they mere chapters for surreal satisfactory demands.
Someday it had to break. No he did not come out, no everybody does not know about his visits to the seabeach, no he never wanted others to know about this, no the rides did not mean anything.
Is this what was meant to be, is this how one is supposed to be in the currents of life, is this fear?