Each day I sit on the beach of tomorrow. Each hour, I write your name upon its sands. Ever so often, tides of today gush onto the shore, and my writing is rendered meaningless again. And yet, I persist; I write again, hoping that this time the waves would a little kinder than the last I could remember. I write again, hoping that this time, my writing is just deep enough to survive beyond the first wave.
I wonder sometimes, if it isn't the waves being evil. Maybe it is just their curiosity. Maybe they come close so that they can read your name, but somehow cannot slow their steps. Today has that one defect that stands out among others - curiosity. It seems curious to know if the name I wrote now is the same as the one I wrote the day before, and the day before that. I wonder if it remembers. It must know, for otherwise, your name written on arid sand wouldn't glow moistly from the tears ‘today’ shed.
Or perhaps, I'm sitting on the wrong sands. For how often has it been (in the last couple of years that you’ve known me), that I've made the right choice? I imagine that there must be other sands that I can write on. Sands that would not bother when your name is written, that would not take the pain to erase it, that would not leave a little salt of memories each time it did. But I do not seek them, my love. For they do not know me. Nor can they comprehend why I persist on this path that is verily breaking me inside. Only tomorrow will know, for it will exact the cost for this persistence when the time is right.
Once more I write your name upon these sands, once more a wave washes my effort clear, I smile with gained wisdom and yet prepare to write your name again..
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