Desiderata

This is the beginning of a post I wrote about two months ago. Just thought I'd share. I'm sitting here at the beach watching this girl cry. It's not just a whimper but a full on why-the-fuck-is-this-happening sob and it's completely real. It's that deep, private pain that hurts in places you didn't know existed and it hits you unexpectedly--even when the beach is full of happy families and brawny lifeguards. There she sits, weeping from some true, unfathomable pain. And I feel for her. Because I've been her. I've sat at the beach looking out into its infinitely wise waves, wishing-hoping-desperately praying for some sort of answer. Eventually you're empty of wet and you brush off the sand from your jeans and wipe your swollen eyes. You take in a deep breath and breathe out I love you, Ocean . And you do. You really do. There's nothing like the salty smell, the colossal expanse, the repetition and mystery. It's a wonder we don't all