I sat on the cold sand shouldering the nocturnal breeze, 
my hair swaying all along with the tall palm trees.  
The waters narrated a story to me 
and I sang them a lullaby. 
They were lazy, they nearly snored,  
but kept on talking, getting excited 
and collapsing down flat and wide. 
The stars being our lamplight, 
there stood nothing to disturb what we stayed for. 
Looking down at the glistening cyan gills of the water 
made me feel like I was the one their secrets were kept for. 
And then the ocean tossed a white seashell out to me. 
The seashell was rid of its little sandy freckles
as the waves pulled away, 
and it sat there, 
half buried 
and half 
full. 
 
It slowed me down as I looked at it. 
It danced in its own rhythm 
and told me all of what I wasn’t told 
by its home. 
I had lived a separate life in the sea 
as that seashell, 
promising myself to come back and meet me. 
 
I took it up and it revealed to me a brown spot 
that wasn’t seen when it was buried. 
It was like that of a burned candle, 
only a candle burned to alight a spark 
and this did so to diminish the shine in which 
it had just gleamed. 
Ugly, that blemish. 
I tossed it back and it skipped twice before 
dropping down to the dark oceanic hell. 
 
The sand on which I sat sank deeper. 
The water ceased to tell me stories. 
The breeze no longer wanted to  
move the palm trees. 
The stars dimmed down 
leaving only the moon on duty. 
 
I walked away from the shore 
and from my accomplice, 
breaking my word by tossing it 
into the mouth of the sea, 
hoping I would return 
back to where I could be as quiet 
and still have someone to sit with me. 
 
I took a final look back at the water. 
The moonlight lent its rays 
to the glimmering seashell 
as it swam afloat, 
and far away 
from me.