I walk along the beach bidding the sun to burn a warm color onto my skin; the waves reach out and caress my bare soles as I leave temporary imprints in the stretching across the canvass of sand. I can not help but let my thoughts to wander on what kind of metaphor that might be, because we all are just footprints in the sand I guess, destined to be stolen away when our wave inevitably comes. Seems like such a teen cliché, trying to identify who you are, the fear of realizing that you will meet the same fate as every other before you. But I still push forward, with each step, and with not so much as a single thought I create something beautiful, an inverted statue, each as unique as a snowflake and, through the right pair of eyes, equally as beautiful. But like the sun comes to claim the life of the snow, my footprints are swallowed away by the ocean, gone forever, like a million prior, like a million following. The thought lifts the corners of my mouth so slightly, someday I’ll be like that to, swept away to a fate unknown. Again I’m stolen away into my own head, but this time I can not help but contemplate how I will die, every story needs an ending after all.

I stretch out on a low, flat rock and let my weight relax upon it. With the sun trickling down on my closed eyes, I allow my mind to explore the possibilities of how my last breaths might be spent. Would I die holding the hand of someone I loved? Or could it be something more, well, tragic? my cheeks began to tingle with the first signs of a sunburn as the minutes passed, so I lifted myself and turned to lay on my stomach. My face to falls in close to the still pond that lies next to the sturdy rock, close enough to nearly brush the surface, but I stiffen at what I see and freeze. Suspended, I gaze wide-eyed into the trembling pool and, in that moment, I realize exactly what would become of me.

They say your eyes are the windows to your soul, and reflected back at me were my own two eyes, and I could see in them, twinkling, tempting, mirroring not what I am, but rather what I was. Every past desire and smile, every tear I had ever shed. Every memory and thought, every single thing I am and ever was drifted through those eyes. A teardrop fell and shattered the glossy image and I pulled away- and laughed as I realized my eyes were flooded. How beautiful, it occurred to me, how absolutely stunning, I thought. What a beautiful concept that I may actually not ever die, no I’ll simply erode. With each wave in my life a small piece of me will erode into my reflection until the last piece drifts away past the horizon.