I was a shore, you were the ocean.
People will go on hopelessly reciting that damned line about kissing and pushing away and the beauty of it all. I don’t see it that way.
I’m a shore. I’m spread too thin and it’s too easy for me to be carried away. I can be shaped and molded by anything that has a notion to change me. I can be decorated in fancy things, but people carry those away to their homes and leave me bare. If I’m not in the perfect light, I’m nothing but a stretch of emptiness. I won’t sparkle without the sun, but others become uncomfortable if I burn too hot.
You’re the ocean. You come and go often, taking a few more pieces of me each time you recede. Nothing can restrain you, and people worry for your well-being. If you’re cold and harsh, they understand. You know no boundaries, and sometimes overtake me completely. You’re vast and intimidating, and no matter how much I stretch, I’ll never compare.
So often, they come through me to get to you. I lose myself in you every day no matter how badly I want to fight it. You wear me away just by being you. It’s natural, but I wouldn’t call it beautiful. A shore like me would have better luck falling for the ever-fading sunset.