Pebbles are forever


When you go to the beach there are thousands of pebbles. Each one tells a different story, lives a different life, comes from a different place. Somehow they all end up in the same predicaments; they become small partials of ones great past. Left to rot, to be forgotten like everything else. Pebbles used to be a part of a rock, so how can you tell the story of a pebble without telling the story of the rock? Sometimes the rock that you have in your hand may not have a story. Lets tell a story about a lot of pebbles who came together to make “The Woman”
Who knows what that eye has seen, the sun blistered upon it with a tinged glare.
“It’s just sand!” she said
“It’s not just sand!” I shot back “It’s a story, a different light, it has a personality, something that connects to you.”

As I was saying that,it was as if the sand came alive and wrapped me in its arms. Some people saw a woman with her hand out to beg, I saw a woman who has been swallowed up in fear and is now turning to the only thing she has left, you. The eyes are a gateway to soul but what if there is no soul? She has sold out, nothing left to believe in, her mouth says nothing but her sun-dried crusted eyes beg for help.
The smell is like a journey of past, present and future. The sea did not do this to her, life took the time to shape and mold her. She’s smooth on one side and rough on the other, both sides fighting to conquer her dreams. Even though she was made out of sand she shows that even though you have your rough edges and places where salt seems to carve away your heart and pull on every string as it plays the saddest song like a violin with each strub going deeper and deeper; change is good for the soul.
The sad part about being a pebble is that, when it finally fades away like we soon will, it will become history of a past that is easily forgotten. Soon we will be like sand, unrecognizable by the naked eye. We will be stepped on and trampled over like this pebble will soon become.