We cry.
A sign of a beating heart, when we are born. The sound of a heart breaking, when we grow up. Hopes and dreams crashing down like sand castles haunted by storms. We mourn. And then we're burrying them in the holes that were created somewhere between soul and body.
The sand is covering up our toes.
We won' t bend to rebuild the castles...we are old, but our bones are young. We are not old in days, we are old in minds. In thoughts. We think too much and feel too little. We set our heads high and we won't look down.
Nobody wants to watch the sea throwing up.
Everybody wants to see the salted waves coming up with a certain kind of comfort fitting each breath.
We don't want happiness, because all that lingers after fireworks is a too loud silence. The smoke. We light up the cigarettes because our worlds are too dark. We don't look back. Too many scattered sand castles.
We step forward, hand in hand with the storm.
